Shamballa Part 2 Separate Ways
by Beregond5
Summary: AU. Edward and Alphonse leave to repair themselves and continue with their research. Beregond stays in East City, unable to follow them. But just how different will be the path the three will follow and how will it affect them?
1. The Visit

_A/n: And here's the second part. Be advised, this will be quite the ride as the story will unfold and reveal two basic plot-lines: Beregond's and the Elrics'. You already know how the second one will play out, this one will be heavily based on the manga and the 2003 anime. As for the other… Well, read further down to find out. ;)_

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The sound of a door opening awoke him. Beregond opened his eyes and let out a small groan as the sun almost blinded him, then blinked so as to adjust his eyes and be able to see around the now familiar room of the hospital. He turned around to see who it was that stirred him from his slumber, and smiled to see a friendly face.

"Hey, Havoc. What brings you here?"

"Well, since I had the day off today and everything, I figured I could drop by and see you," answered the lieutenant, joviality evident in his tone. "And the guys at the office wanted me to give you this." He handed Beregond an envelope, smiling.

Feeling curious, Beregond opened the envelope and pulled out what looked like a piece of paper. The next instant, he was surprised – and touched - to see that it was a photograph of him and almost all his friends and acquaintances: Edward and Alphonse, Havoc, Hawkeye, Breda, Falman and Fuery. Even Hughes and Colonel Mustang were there, the one smiling broadly as always and the other posing with the dignity of a high-ranking officer.

Beregond remembered when that picture was taken. It was on the day that he got accepted in the army and he had taken all of them out to lunch as a gesture of thanks for the help they had offered. And Hughes, naturally, had brought the camera with him in order to immortalise the occasion. Of course, he had to immortalise the occasion _twice_, because the first time Beregond got so startled upon encountering the bright light again that he fell from his chair. He felt himself blushing at the memory of his embarrassment back then.

"I remember," said Havoc with a grin, clearly understanding where Beregond's mind had wandered off. "We all thought for a moment you got yourself a heart-attack."  
The Gondorian laughed before he could help it. Just then, he caught glimpse of three words written behind the picture. _Get well soon._

"Very thoughtful of you," he said, smiling warmly. He placed the photograph on the small table nearby, against his glass of water so he would be able to look at it more easily. "Thank you."

"I'll tell the guys you said that," said Havoc, exhaling the smoke from the cigarette still on his lips. He sat down. "Did the doctor pass by today?"

Beregond nodded. "He said I was doing quite well, and since my wound is already closed and there aren't any complications, I can leave in a couple of days."

"Just two days, huh?" noted Havoc with a frown. "Then I'll have to make the most out of it with the pretty nurses while I'm here, visiting you."

"And here I am, blissfully thinking that you were concerned about my health," Beregond said in mock annoyance, punching Havoc lightly on the arm. It was then that dark thoughts entered his mind and he sobered once more. "Have there been any sightings of Scar?" he asked worriedly.

Havoc shook his head. "It seems like the guy vanished without a trace. What's worse now is that the higher-ups have been breathing down on Mustang's neck, demanding an explanation as to why there hasn't been any progress on the case."

Beregond shook his head in a grim manner. "They aren't planning on going easy on him, are they?"

"No. Hughes would probably have been able to help, but he's already left for Central, escorting the Führer."

"Perhaps he can help from a distance?" ventured Beregond.

Havoc shrugged. "Maybe. But he can still only do that much."

Beregond nodded his understanding.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Understanding that he was about to get caught, Havoc extinguished his cigarette on the sole of his shoe; and it wasn't a moment too soon. A nurse came in, looking in Beregond's direction.

"Excuse me for bothering you," she said, her voice sweet and mellow. "There's another visitor to see you, sir."

Before Beregond could enquire as to who it was, a familiar girl rushed inside happily and, shouting out Beregond's name, jumped on the bed for a hug.

"Alice!" the Gondorian exclaimed in surprise – and in slight pain, something that would have made Havoc laugh out loud but for Beregond's subtle death glare at his direction. "How did you get here?"

"Mom brought me," Alice said. Truly enough, Alice's mother walked through the door, a smile gracing her features.

"Hello, Mr. Beregond. I'm awfully sorry to disturb you at this time of day, but Alice really wanted to see you."

"It's perfectly all right," Beregond said, smiling back. Remembering himself, he motioned his hand at Havoc's direction. "This is 2nd Lieutenant Jean Havoc. Jean, this is Sarah Abbot. She works as a librarian at the State Library of the East City."

"How do you do?" both Havoc and Sarah said, shaking hands.

"And I'm Alice!" cried then the little girl, giving also her hand.

Havoc couldn't help but grin. "Well, nice to meet you, too, Alice," he said, and taking her hand, kissed it like he would do when meeting any charming lady.

That gesture was certainly appreciated by Alice, who blushed and giggled. "So, you're a friend of Beregond's too?" she asked him naturally.

"Alice, that's not a way to address somebody you've just met," her mother reminded her.

"It's fine," Havoc said, smiling. "And, to answer your question, Alice: Yes, I am."

"Are you also from far away?"

"Alice!" Sarah was getting quite mortified by her daughter's indiscretion.

But Jean just chuckled. "No, I'm not. I met Beregond about nine months ago."

"Oh! Like Ed and Al."

"Yes," said Havoc with a nod.

Alice rewarded Havoc with another smile; then turned to Beregond. "Did the bad man hurt you a lot?"

At that, Beregond and Havoc looked at Sarah, troubled.

"We heard everything from the news on the radio. That's how we knew where to find you, Mr. Beregond."

Beregond nodded. "I see." He faced the little girl. "He did, Alice. But, as you can see now, I'm fine."

Alice nodded; then took a bag from her mother's hands. "I brought some new books for us to read. They don't have any here," she said, and Beregond could have sworn that he heard a disapproving tone in her voice.

"'Us'?" echoed Sarah, raising an eyebrow. "Alice, we had agreed that we wouldn't stay for more than a few minutes, because you would help me with the groceries. Besides, Mr. Beregond needs all the rest he can get."

"But, mom, you always say that books help us rest!" said the girl. "And… I like how Beregond reads," she added, blushing.

"I had a very nice teacher," said Beregond, tickling her a bit on the ribs. Alice let out a squeal of laughter.

Sarah shook her head, but it was clear that she was willing to relent this time. "Very well. I'll go get our groceries. But," she added, "you'd better be on your best behaviour."

"I promise!" said Alice.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Abbot. She'll be fine with me," said Beregond.

At that, Havoc stood up at once. "Mrs. Abbot, I can go with you if you like."

"Really, sir, I wouldn't even dream of it!" Sarah said with a shake of her head. "You must be quite busy and I wouldn't want to inconvenience you!"

"No inconvenience whatsoever," Havoc said, smiling. "Besides, I wouldn't want to bother Beregond and Alice in their reading," he added. Of course, Beregond knew what Havoc meant was: "I don't want to be bored to death," so he chuckled softly.

Sarah contemplated matters for a few moments; then nodded. "Well, in that case, I accept."

"Good." And with that Havoc picked up his overcoat. "We can go by car. I have it parked outside."

Sarah smiled at this. "Probably for the best. I've quite a lot to get." She turned to Alice. "Now, Alice, just like we agreed. You won't tire Mr. Beregond, all right?"

"Okay, mom," was all that Alice said, before settling herself on Beregond's side and showing him the first book. "Mom got this one just yesterday. It's about a sailor who travels around the world with his wife."

"Is it now?" asked Beregond with a tone of intrigue. He waved Sarah and Havoc a brief farewell, and then opened the book to start reading.



"Mrs. Abbot! It's so good to see you again," cried an elderly woman, putting down the apple she was polishing and rushed to greet the familiar face.

"Hello, Mrs. Hersey," said Sarah, smiling. "Are the fruit fresh?"

"Right out of my own orchard," said Mrs. Hersey proudly. She immediately started putting some oranges in a bag for Sarah. "But where is Alice? I don't see her with you," she asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid that a friend of hers was at the hospital and she wouldn't budge from his side today."

"Oh, that's so sweet of her," said Mrs Hersey. "And I hope her little friend gets better soon."

Havoc listened on to the conversation with only some mild interest, being more mindful of the large paper-bag he was holding; but as soon as he heard _that_ it took all of his will power not to burst out laughing. _Little… I'm sure Beregond would be really pleased to hear that!_ he sniggered in his looked at Sarah, and something in her eyes made him realise that she was thinking the same thing. Her lips had tugged to a small grin.

"Well, at least you have someone to help you," said then Mrs. Hersey, as though noticing Havoc just then. "And quite handsome one, too!"

Havoc was torn between feeling complimented or embarrassed at that comment. Sarah, meanwhile, had blushed furiously and murmured something to the likes of: "Really, Mrs. Hersey."

Mrs. Hersey just shrugged her shoulders. "I'm just saying the obvious, dear, no offence. I'm glad to see that you decided to put back your sorrow."

Sarah's grip on her wallet suddenly tightened for a moment. It was nothing but a small twitching of the fingers, but Havoc had still managed to notice it and he couldn't help but feel puzzled by it. Was she a widow then? That seemed the most logical explanation.

"How much do I owe you, Mrs. Hersey?" asked Sarah.

"That will be 170, dear," the elderly woman said with a smile. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Sarah answered swiftly, and took the basket without looking back. Havoc followed closely behind, and he could tell that she was angry. So he decided not to say anything, before she addressed him first.

He didn't have to wait long.

"I'm truly sorry that you had to witness that kind of indiscretion, Mr. Havoc. There are always some people who see a woman with another man and assume the most inappropriate thing first."

"I wasn't offended, Mrs. Abbott." It was true, Havoc wasn't. If anything, it was good to be in the company of another woman – especially since Havoc didn't have the fear that Mustang could steal the said woman away from him. He had concluded Sarah was far too serious for light, one-night amorous adventures and not even Mustang's charms could change that. Besides, it was the matter of Alice to be considered. The presence of a child always complicated matters.

Those were, of course, the reasons why _he_ himself didn't attempt anything either.

What surprised him was that he didn't mind at all. If anything, it was a nice change and, furthermore, it gave him a sense of confidence. Since he wasn't trying to woo Mrs. Abbot, he wasn't self-conscious and careful on what to say or do. He was himself.

"Still, it wasn't in their place to judge anything," Sarah said. "How I lead my life shouldn't be their concern," she murmured again, huffily.

Havoc didn't say anything this time. He simply watched the woman, intrigued to see how her face had reddened and her eyes glared ahead at nothing in particular. When she finally regained her composure, she turned toward him with a small smile.

"Would you like to go to a cafeteria for a short while? I really need to get some tea."

Havoc was certainly surprised at this sudden change of mood, but in the end he decided that that was probably Sarah's way of dealing with frustration – occupy herself otherwise, as pleasantly and relaxed as possible at that. A good strategy, Havoc had to admit.

"I'd like that," he said.

"Good. And whatever you get, it's on me. No, I insist," Sarah said, seeing Havoc's shocked expression. "I know it's probably against your best manners to allow such a thing, but you've already done enough for me and I wish to repay you. This is the least I can do."

"Very well," Havoc faltered, still trying to recover from that kind of boldness.



"Are you feeling better now?" Havoc ventured to ask as soon as they both got several sips from their tea.

"Yes, quite fine, thank you," Sarah replied. A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips. "You have been really kind. Mr. Beregond chooses his friends well."

"I was just about to say the same thing," Havoc said, a smile of his own tugging on his lips. "And Alice seems a wonderful child, too. Her father would have been quite proud of her."

Sarah just nodded and sighed. "My only regret is that he never saw her born."

"May I ask what happened?"

"Ishbal," was all that Sarah said.

"I'm sorry."

Sarah shrugged. "I am, too. That doesn't bring him back though. Don't worry, it doesn't mean that I'm not content with my life as it is now. I have Alice and my friends." She looked at her watch. "We should be going soon. Alice might be expecting me." Getting a last gulp of her tea, she asked for the bill and waved her hand dismissively when Havoc tried to at least pay for his share.

"Like I said, Mr. Havoc: my treat," she said with finality as she gave the money to the waiter. "After all, you will be giving me a lift back to the hospital."

Havoc didn't have anything to say to that. Raising his hand in a gesture of peace, he carried the paper bags and led Sarah to the car. After putting the groceries in the trunk and opened the door of the co-driver's seat for Sarah, he settled himself also in the car and set off. No words were exchanged between them during the whole time, as Havoc caught himself lost in thought.

The words that Sarah told him had made quite the impression on him; because, frankly, he couldn't understand how one could be without a husband or a wife and still be fine with it. It was obvious now that, since the woman didn't have someone by her side, she gave all the love she had to her daughter and the people she considered friends.

Now he understood Beregond a little better, too, and how he had managed to cope with his wife's death.

Beregond…

Havoc smirked. _Life is just full of surprises, isn't it?_

His mind's eye drifted back to the time soon after Fullmetal, Alphonse and Armstrong had left for Resembool, when Mustang told everyone within the unit – Hughes included – about Beregond's real identity and why it was imperative no one else found out about this. After all, Beregond proved himself to be more valuable as a soldier within their ranks than as a guinea pig in a laboratory.

Then again, as Havoc reasoned to himself, _who_ would believe that Beregond was, in fact, from another world entirely, and was brought in Amestris after some freak alchemic accident, very much like the one which cost the Elric Brothers their bodies? He had difficulty believing it himself, even though he found Beregond; heard him speak; and kept watch over him when the Gondorian was charged with murder.

He sighed. His thoughts concerning Beregond's person back then were unflattering, to say the least. Far gone and out there, that was how he always described him to others. Now he knew why he felt that way. Because Beregond _was_ from out there literally.

The irony was biting, to say the least.

"Mr. Havoc, are you all right?"

Sarah cut into his train of thought, snapping him out of his musings.

"Yes, everything is fine," Havoc assured her, and began his parking manoeuvres. He had barely registered the fact that they had arrived at the hospital.

"Let's hope Alice has kept her promise," Sarah said, getting out of the car. As for Havoc, he couldn't help but smile at the mental image of a hyperactive kid running around the room and a tall man in the prime of his strength knocked out that formed in his mind. Now that would be a sight to see.

But, it turned out that Havoc was wrong and Sarah didn't need to worry. Alice was still at Beregond's side, resting her small form on the man's body frame, sound asleep. As for the Gondorian, he had placed an arm over the girl's shoulders in a protective way and was now reading silently one of the books Alice had brought. What concerned Havoc, however, was the intensity with which the Gondorian was reading the book, hardly blinking and barely noticing the door opening. And, what made things quite unsettling was that Beregond was _frowning_.

"Why, Mr. Beregond, I've known you for several months and you never seize to amaze me!" said Sarah, smiling. "I never thought that the story of the Ancient Mariner and his lady would interest you so much!"

Beregond snapped his head up to look at the newcomers, his face betraying how startled he was before it settled to a calmed expression once more. "It's quite… intriguing," he finally said, closing the book and settling it down on his lap. "Can you tell me on what were those stories based?"

Sarah was surprised at the question, that was clear. Havoc was about to say something, but a discreet gesture from Beregond asked him not to interfere yet.

"Why, on mythology books," Sarah answered, as though she was stating the most obvious thing in the world. "Stories of old that our grandfathers and forefathers used to say before Alchemy was developed; it was their own approach on how this world works." She pointed at the book Beregond was holding. "This is just an oversimplified version of one of the volumes, along with illustrations for the children to follow the story better. They make a good bed-time story," she explained.

Beregond's frown deepened. "I see. And are those… mythology books available anywhere?"

Sarah nodded. "We have several volumes of them at the library. You can come and have a look at them whenever you like."

"All right. Thank you," was all that Beregond said, handing Alice to her mother. He caught sight of the book again. "May I keep this for a little while longer?"

"Yes, no problem," Sarah answered, smiling, doing her best to carry her daughter. Havoc and Beregond exchanged a look, and they both silently agreed that she needed help; so Havoc offered his help once more. In less than half an hour, he had driven Mrs. Abbot and her daughter back to their house, earning his thanks again from the grateful woman. When he returned, he saw that Beregond was again stooped over the book.

"I know you like books, but I've never seen you like this," he finally ventured, raising an eyebrow. "What's so interesting about this one, anyway?"

Beregond gave his answer by handing the book and showing Havoc an illustration on the page he was currently on. "Is _this_ familiar to you?"

Havoc looked at the illustration for a few moments. "There's a ship with oars and white sails. Why should this be…?" He froze as he noticed the sails again. There was the image of two trees; one had the sun over it, but the other one had…

"… seven stars," he breathed out before he could help it. He looked at Beregond, shocked. "This one is identical to the image on your armour!"

Beregond nodded. "And I can tell you that the whole ship is identical to the ship of Eärendil, a mariner of _my_ people."

"But you are from a different world! Middle-earth or whatever it's called! How's this possible?"

"I intend to find that out as soon as I leave the hospital," Beregond answered, his eyes seeming alight with determination.

TBC…


	2. The House Of The Waiting Family

Unlike East City, Resembool wasn't a big city. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was small, quiet, surrounded by countryside and green hills – the most typical of villages. The people were friendly and familiar with each other, to the point that everyone resembled a large family. Even when two didn't agree on certain aspects, it didn't mean that they didn't enjoy the other's company otherwise and even banter playfully.

That was the kind of conversation that a small, elderly woman and a man in his late thirties were having while the sun was continuing its journey on the sky-dome early in the morning.

"This feels nice," the man said, examining his fake mechanical leg. "As good a job as I expected it from you, Dr. Pinako."

"So how about it?" asked then Pinako, watching the man putting on his coat with mild interest. "Are you moving up to automail?"

The man let out a small laugh. "You're joking, right? It might be handy, but don't they say that the post surgery pain and rehabilitation process are difficult?"

Pinako eyed the man. "You're pretty scared for your age. There was even this brat who got a right arm and left leg of automail."

"Bah, I don't have that kind of courage," the man said, waving dismissively his hand. "Goodbye." And with that he was gone.

Pinako sighed as he watched her customer leaving and decided to sweep the floor in case someone else decided to come pay her a visit. After all, visitors were always welcome – and their money.

Suddenly, the big black dog, which was up to that point sleeping contently near his mistress, sniffed something in the air and stood up abruptly. At the next moment, he was barking loudly and rushing to the gate of the house.

"What's wrong, Den?" asked Pinako, not really understanding her dog's behaviour.

All Den did was keep barking. Intrigued, Pinako strained her eyes and looked at the direction the dog did. She was surprised to see that she saw a large man, carrying what it seemed to be a crate. Yet her surprise soon subsided upon seeing the short figure beside the man. She would recognise that small form anywhere, even without the red trench coat that was over his shoulders.

"So they've come," she breathed out, yet a big smile brightening her wrinkled features. She turned her head to the house. "Winry! We've got guests of honour!" She paused to hear for any kind of reaction from inside, and huffed when she realised that her granddaughter was too focused on making another automail to notice anything. "WINRY!" Hoping that Winry heard her this time, she walked up to Ed, regarding him closely. "Hm, aren't you looking lively?"

Ed grinned broadly in greeting. "Hey… We need your help again, Aunt Pinako." He pointed at the man next to him. "This is Major Armstrong."

Pinako looked at the large man, and gave him a small smile before extending her hand. "Pinako Rockbell."

Armstrong, being the gentleman that he was, placed Al down so he would be able to give his own hand in handshake. Meanwhile, Den, seeing his chance, placed both paws on the crate to stretch himself and so sniff the suit of armour inside. He wagged his tail when he understood who was in there.

"Long time, no see, Den," Al said happily, something that made the dog bark joyously.

Pinako hardly noticed that reunion though. She instead looked Ed from head to toe with quite the scrutiny; then at Armstrong; and back at Ed.

"Well, well, in the time you've been gone, you got small."

It was amazing to see how a single word could vanish all joys of reunion to be replaced by sheer outrage. Then again, nothing seemed impossible for young Edward Elric.

"Who did you say was small, mini hag?!"

And it was amazing to see that Pinako Rockbell wasn't to be underestimated in that touchy department either.

"Oh, yeah, ultra squirt?!"

"Midget hag!"

"Micro squirt!"

"Flea-sized hag!"

----------------------

The blond girl was still ridding herself off her working suit when she heard the angry exchange of insults. _New record_, she figured. _It actually took them less than thirty seconds to start shouting at each other._

Winry couldn't help but understand her grandmother perfectly though. After all, she felt like shouting at Ed at that moment, too.

"That dummy," she muttered, grabbing a wrench and still walking furiously toward the window of her room. "I keep telling him to call before he drops by, but noooo…" She opened the window and quickly found her target. "HEY, ED!"

As soon as Ed looked up, she went for her usual and best practiced punishment. She threw her wrench straight at Edward's head, and it was to her grim satisfaction that Ed let out a loud exclamation of pain and collapsed to the ground. She knew Ed was fine, of course - other than the large lump on his head, that is. Her skill with wrenches, no matter _how_ she used them, couldn't be underestimated.

"Didn't I tell you to call at least _once_ before you show up for maintenance check?!" she shouted indignantly.

Ed immediately stood up, rubbing the lump that started forming on his head. "WINRY, YOU JACKASS! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?!"

But Winry merely laughed, her indignation gone in a heartbeat. "Welcome home!"

Ed didn't appreciate the gesture of peace. He just grumbled.

----------------------------

"WHAT?!"

Winry's voice rang throughout the house. Yet Ed was quite calm, already expecting that reaction.

"Yeah, sorry," he merely said, sipping his tea. "It got busted up."

"_Busted up?!_" Winry echoed incredulously, her hands trembling as she barely controlled herself. "Just how were you using that first-class automail I had so painstakingly made?!"

Ed chuckled embarrassedly. "It got smashed to little bits."

That certainly proved too much for Winry. She swayed on her feet as though ready to faint, but then she chose a more classical and gratifying tactic.

The wrench.

Ed bore it stoically this time, even though it did hurt like hell.

"So what happened?" Winry asked, placing her hands on her hips once that matter was taken care of. "Why's Al busted up, too? Just what have you guys been doing?"

Seeing no other option, Ed and Al explained everything: that they had finally found a lead on the Philosopher's stone, though they had to fight in order to finally acquire that knowledge, and that they now needed Winry and Pinako's help.

"So," Winry said in the end, "you want to go to Central as soon as possible to get the files on the Philosopher's Stone?"

Ed nodded. "And I want to do this fast."

"Right. It's not just the arm though," Pinako commented. She stretched Ed's legs and looked at both the flesh and the automail one carefully. "Your leg is going to need some adjusting, too." She smiled a bit. "You've gotten bigger."

If Ed could have beamed anymore at this piece of news, he certainly would have. He watched as Pinako tapped his automail leg with her pipe.

"This is going to be fine because we still have the base, but we'll have to start from scratch with the arm."

Now that was something Edward didn't want to hear. "What? So that will take around a week!"

Pinako chuckled as she took a puff from her pipe. "You underestimate me. It'll be three days." Grabbing the automail leg with both hands, she pulled it out and brought another fake limb, this one coarser in structure. "Just put up with using this spare in the meantime."

Ed looked at the new leg with some suspicion, but then nodded his compliance. "Okay…" He stood up, and immediately grabbed the mantelpiece so he wouldn't fall. "Whoops, it's pretty hard to walk with a leg I'm not used to."

Meanwhile, Winry was doing her own calculations. "After carving, there's assembling, adjusting, connecting and finishing. This is going to take all night," she finally said.

"I'm sorry for asking so much," Ed said with a tinge of guilt.

Winry, however, just smiled as she eyed Ed confidently. "You want to go to Central as soon as possible, right? So shouldn't I do the best I can?" Suddenly, a huge grin brightened her features. "Because in exchange, I'll be getting oodles of cash from you right away!" Laughing, she smacked Ed's back… sending him almost flying a foot away and making him land on some boxes.

"Oops…" she said, blushing.

She had forgotten that Ed wasn't used yet to the new leg.

--------------------------------

"What the hell is up with that bloodthirsty lady?" Ed wondered. He, Al and Den were now sitting outside on the grass, letting Winry and Aunt Pinako do their job. As for Major Armstrong, he had gone to the back of the house, after offering to cut some firewood in exchange for the hospitality he was given by the two mechanics.

"You're saying that now?" Al asked, laughing. After all, they both knew that Winry was like that ever since they could remember.

Edward didn't bother to answer this time. He simply sprawled himself on the grass, looking at the fluffy white clouds up in the sky, wandering like strange boats in a sea of cerulean blue.

"Three days, huh?" There was a small pause. "Perhaps we should have called first. Then, while Winry and Aunt Pinako would work on the automail, we could also wait for Beregond to heal so he could come with us." Ed immediately shook his head. "Aw, what am I saying? This wouldn't work either. Beregond wouldn't be able to travel, even if he did get discharged from the hospital on time."

"And even if he overcame his fear of trains, he wouldn't be able to carry me all the way here," Al added in regret. "It would probably harm his body if he did."

"Yeah." Ed sighed. "It's too bad really. He really wanted to see Resembool."

"Maybe next time."

"Maybe," Ed echoed. His eyes drifted on Den, who was resting beside the boys. "Den would have certainly liked him, wouldn't you, buddy?"

Den lifted his gaze and wagged a bit his tail, probably glad to be addressed, and then there was silence once more.

"When we have nothing to do, we really _are_ on a break," Ed suddenly declared, more for the sake of saying something than anything else. What he avoided to say was that there weren't any libraries around either.

Al looked at his brother, puzzled. "But isn't it nice to have an occasional break since we haven't had it easy for a while?"

"I don't work well with breaks!" Ed cried out, flailing wildly in frustration. What made things worse was that Den, probably wishing to participate in that strange game, sprawled himself on his back and started flailing his legs in the air, too.

The resemblance was uncanny, to say the least.

"You sure don't," Al noted thoughtfully. "Look, if you have that much free time, go visit Mother's grave."

Ed stopped his thrashing at once, Al's words making him think hard. "Visit her grave? But you can't go the way you're now."

"I don't want the Major to carry me, so I'll stay here." He looked at his brother for a while. "Once the automail is fixed we'll head off for Central right away, won't we? That's why you didn't tell Beregond when we would return, right?"

Ed nodded.

"Then you should go while you have time to."

Ed didn't answer at once, wishing to contemplate matters a little more before deciding anything.

He could only admit that his brother was right.

He had to go. He owed it to her.

------------------------------

Ed never thought it would have felt good strolling around Resembool once again. But as he walked towards the graveyard, accompanied by Den, who was now carrying obediently a bouquet of flowers, he had to admit that he needed it. He even came across people that he hadn't seen in a very long time and chatted with them, catching up with news of the village.

Yet his cheerfulness was gone when he finally arrived at his mother's grave. He didn't know how long he remained by the stony slab, looking at it, lost in thought. And he certainly didn't know how his feet, as though having a mind of their own, carried him to the remains of their house.

He rested his flesh hand against a beam that was still standing tall near him, and then walked through the whole premises, recalling every part of the house before it was burned.

Before he and Al burned it.

It was ironic to say that some memories weren't meant to leave traces, but the deepest of traces were left in one's own mind.

Memories like the sobs of a little girl who heard of the death of her parents, long ago.

-----------------------------

"_Winry, what's wrong?" asked a concerned eight-year-old Ed, rushing to his friend's side and followed closely behind by a seven-year-old Al. The sight of her sitting on a chair by a table and crying her heart out didn't only puzzle him, it worried him too._

_The little blonde girl lifted her head and looked at the young Elrics through tear-filled eyes. "Mom and Dad are dead!" was all that she managed to say, before burying her head back in her arms, a new series of sobs breaking out._

_The boys were certainly surprised at this news. "But I thought your parents were doctors!" said Ed._

"_Yeah, that's why they had to go to the war in Ishbal," Winry answered, her voice faltering as she still kept crying._

_Ed and Al grew silent, not knowing what to say that to that. Finally, Al, being the gentler of the two, offered Winry the clay animal he had created through alchemy and placed it next to her. "Winry, we understand how you feel," he said comfortingly. "Our dad left too." _

_That made Winry finally snap._

"_Shut up, you idiot!" she shouted, throwing the clay animal away. She faced Al accusingly. "Your dad just_ ran off, _my parents are both_ dead; _they can't ever come back!" Her voice hitched before she could help it._

_Al bowed his head in shame. Ed, however, seemed calm and collected as he picked up Al's clay horse. _

"_Not necessarily true," he said, now holding both toys. "I read it in a book. There's this artificial humane being called a Homunculus. It's sort of a doll without a mind to begin with. But some scholars believe that with alchemy, if you're willing to give up enough--"_

"_Stop!"_

_Pinako walked in, horrified to hear such a conversation between the children. "There'll be no talking like that in this house, you understand me? _That_ is a forbidden science! Alchemy is not some perfect magic answer to all our problems! That's why automail engineers exist!"_

_Ed only snorted. "Backwards old bat…" _

_That earned both him and Alphonse a barrage of pots, pans and steel parts flying towards their direction, and their only means of escape was to run away as fast as their feet could carry them. They only stopped when they were very far away from Pinako's wrath._

_Alphonse sighed, his dove-grey eyes carrying a mournful expression as they started walking. "You shouldn't have said that, Brother."_

_Ed kicked an invisible stone in a pouting manner, but his expression had softened. "You know, she's right. Winry's already lost more than we ever will."_

_Al's hands twitched nervously. "Poor Winry. Can you imagine how that it would be…?"_

_Though Al didn't carry on, Ed had understood and a small gasp escaped his lips in realisation. _

_When he saw their mother from a distance, smiling and waving at them, he was the first of the two to run toward her and hug her, sobbing._

--------------------------

Ed bowed his head, the burden of the memory proving almost too much. Had he known what would happen two years after that day, he would hold on to his mother tightly and never let her go.

----------------------

"_Mom! Mom!" Ed called out happily, the fruit-filled basket that he was carrying not slowing down his sprint in the least._

"_Brother! Wait up!" Al called, doing his best to keep up._

_And Ed did, not wishing to leave his little brother behind. Grabbing his hand, he dragged Al to make him hurry up and then opened the door excitedly._

"_Mom!" _

_As his eyes caught sight of his mother's form unconscious on the floor, his cries of joy instantly changed to cries of horror._

"_MOM!"_

------------------------

The doctor had said it clearly: The disease hadn't developed overnight. Ed's heart constricted as he thought how long it must have been that his mother hid her pain behind her smile, not a word of complain escaping her lips - leaving him and Al to do nothing more for her except to mourn.

And feed on the wildest of hopes: to bring her back.

That was the one step where they fell.

The young alchemist closed his eyes before he could help it, the screams of the past almost deafening him.

-----------------------

"_Brother! Brother!"_

"_AL!"_

_But before Ed could reach his brother, Al's hand had dissolved into the nothingness that had claimed the younger boy. And the next thing he knew, Ed was falling too, taken by powerful black hands and shoved into a world without direction, out of time, filling his mind with information about Alchemy beyond his wildest dreams. He knew that he needed just one step before understanding human transmutation._

_But it hurt so much that he didn't know if he could bear it._

_It was then that he saw her._

_His mother._

_He tried desperately to reach her, but the hands held him too tightly._

"_Stop! Go away! LET ME GO!" _

_They let him go. Right in front of the Gate; where eyes looked at him from inside, in an almost mocking manner._

_That is, until the Gate shut._

"_Wait! Let me see it once more!" Ed cried, pounding at the doors. "The truth was there... what I've been looking for!"_

_There was only a whisper of an answer._

"_The principle of Equivalent Exchange? What did you want to say? The price...?"_

_It was when he looked down that he realised what the blackness wished to say. _

_When he saw his left leg gone._

_He screamed. And it was that scream that brought him back to the reality – the nightmare – that he was living in the basement of his own house. Blood oozed out of the stump that had remained of his leg, forming a gruesome pool on the floor._

"_Damn it! They've taken it from me!" It took all of Ed's courage to look up, to see what was the result of the transmutation. "Mom?"_

_He found her in the mist that was formed after the alchemical reaction, still on the centre of the array. _

_At the next moment, he wished he hadn't. For that thing of exposed muscles, insides and tissue that was screaming in agony couldn't be labelled human. _

_Ed could only gag at the sight._

"_No... this isn't what I wanted... Al... it's my fault... it's..."_

_He had to make amends - before it was too late._

"_It's my little brother!" he cried, throwing down one of the many suits of armour that happened to decorate the basement of his home. Using his own blood he started drawing arrays on the armour and his body. "I will give you my leg, my arms, or my heart... but bring him back!"_

_He couldn't lose Al, too._

"_He's the only little brother I've got!"_

-------------------------------

Ed's flesh hand went involuntarily to the base of the automail; where his right arm should have been, had it not been taken away for the price of Al's soul.

Ed sighed before he could help it. Al kept saying he wished he could remember what had happened when he was taken by the Gate. But Ed himself considered it a blessing that _he_ was the only one of the two that could. If anything, Al was spared from nightmares.

Ed's jaw clenched, as it was then that he renewed his vow. He would find a way to restore himself and Al. Then those memories would disappear to be replaced with joyous ones once again; just like the ones that they had of this house before their sin.

His eyes caught sight of Den, always by his side. Was it his imagination, or was there a mournful expression in the dog's eyes?

Ed just smiled sadly. "Let's go."

Den barked and followed the boy.

_TBC..._


	3. Questions

_A/n: Talk about ultra small filler __chapter. ^^; It's still a rather important one._

----------------------

The first thing that Beregond did, when he returned back to the house he and the Elric Brothers shared, wasn't to rest, as the doctor suggested to him. Instead, he reached for his journal and a pen, and then opened Alice's book again so as to read every phrase carefully. Whenever he stumbled into anything that sounded remotely familiar with what he had been told in his childhood concerning Eärendil, he jotted it down. He even wrote a description of the illustrations, along with a summary of the story, so he would be able to reference back to his journal when he would go to the library. He had become so concentrated on that activity that he hardly noticed when night had settled in and he had to turn on the light.

Once he had finished, he realised that he had neglected another important need of his. His stomach grumbled its protest quite forcefully.

Chuckling a bit and thinking how Alphonse would have mothered him for not taking care of himself, he made a sandwich, the best thing he could make at this time of night; and sat down on the couch, looking again at what he had come up so far.

The results were interesting, to say the least.

On the one hand, he had the story of a prince, a ruler of a fair city that worshipped the sea, and who was fondly known as the Mariner because he was in the Sea-God's favour. After seeing many wondrous things on his voyages, always driven by his love for that element, the Mariner finally met a princess of great wealth and wisdom. He fell in love with her and he asked her to marry him, giving her as a token of his love a valuable stone that the Sea-God himself had given him to win her heart. The Princess accepted his love, but she also asked him to never set sail again. The Mariner promised her that he would do no such thing, feeling truly that his desire for sailing and adventure had been quenched.

But then news reached his ears that a black dragon raged his country, and the Mariner was asked to return to offer his assistance. He refused that call two times, because of the love he had for his wife. At the third time, his heart couldn't bear it. While the Princess was away, he sailed away to help his kin, taking two more ships with him.

When the Princess returned to see that her husband was gone, she was almost maddened by grief. She rode out in the wild hope that she would find her husband again and bring him back home. But, while she was riding through a forest on her way to the closest harbour, robbers attacked her, wishing to gain the valuable stone that shone on her breast. The Princess fled, only to reach to a cliff on the bottom of which the gaping sea was roaring. Seeing no other hope and finally despairing, she threw herself over the cliff and everyone believed she truly died there.

Yet it wasn't so. Feeling pity for her, the Sea-God changed her into a great, white gull; and in that new form and with the stone in her beak, the Princess flew onwards so she could find her husband. After many days and nights of search, she finally landed exhausted on her husband's ship. The sailors were ready to kill her, not knowing who she was and believing that the gull would bring misfortune. At the last moment, the Mariner noticed the stone on her beak and recognised her. As he cradled the bird in his arms, the Princess returned to her true form, and the couple was reunited once more.

When they finally arrived to the Mariner's city, the couple saw it getting burned to ashes by the black dragon, and so they both prayed to the Sea-God for assistance. Suddenly, through the power of the Sea-God, the ship was suddenly lifted by a huge wave and, as though it was flying, the ship got close to the dragon. The Mariner, using the power of the stone the Sea-God had given him, finally slew the monster, and then remained with his people to help the city be restored. The couple ruled the city to the end of their days and, just before they died, they sailed on their ship one last time. As their last breath left their lips, the Gods took the ship to the heavens, and the stone that was from then on clasped on the Mariner's chest, always shone the brightest in the morning, when the ship was starting its voyage on the sky dome.

On the other hand, Beregond remembered from his childhood the story of Eärendil, son of Tuor, a lord of Men, and Indis, the Elven princess of Gondolin. After his family suffered through much misfortune, Eärendil grew up in the Elven haven of Arvernien, where he met Elwing, the daughter of Dior, Lord of Doriath and son of Beren and Lúthien Tinúviel, and married her. Meanwhile, Círdan the Shipwright, an Elf of great renown who knew of Eärendil's love for the sea, built a mighty ship for him, Vingilot, to sail and explore at his wish. And when Elwing gave birth to twins, Elrond and Elros, Eärendil truly believed that he was blessed with happiness for the remainder of his days.

But it wasn't meant to be. While he was at sea, Arvenien was attacked by Noldorin Elves who, bound by a terrible vow, wished to retrieve the Silmaril, a bright stone that Elwing had in her possession, inheritance from her family. Seeing no means of escape, Elwing threw herself and the Silmaril to the sea, and Ulmo, the Lord of Waters, saved her by transforming her into a sea bird and allowing her to fly to Eärendil. The couple used the power and light of the Silmaril to find their way to the Undying Lands and ask the aid of the Valar. In response, the Valar and Maiar host, along with the Elves of Eldamar, came out of the Undying Lands in the War of Wrath, which ended in the Great Battle and during which Melkor, the First Dark Lord, was defeated. Even Eärendil took part in the battle and, using Vingilot, which now had the magical ability to fly, slew Ancalagon the Black, the greatest Dragon Middle-earth had ever known. Once the War was over, Eärendil led the surviving men to the Island of Númenor, while he was destined to sail Vingilot through the firmament. Called the Evening Star and the "flame of the west", the Silmaril on his brow shone down from the night sky forever after.

Beregond didn't know what to make of it. He could recall instances from his own history that resembled Alchemy. Then, Alphonse told him how one could use a philosopher's stone to enhance their powers in Alchemy, and even attach them to rings to make sure that that power was always with them. That reminded Beregond of the Rings of Power.

And now he was reading a fairy-tale that resembled a story of his own people.

The first time he had disregarded the strange similarities because he believed that he was desperately trying to find examples from his world in an attempt to grasp the principles of Alchemy more easily. The second time he had disregarded the connection with the rings as coincidence. The Rings of Power, though they also enhanced their wielder's power, didn't seem to work in the same way a philosopher's stone did.

But now he was beginning to feel that perhaps he didn't just keep on stumbling on coincidences. He still recalled the conversation he had with Ed and Alphonse some time ago. The two worlds, Middle-earth and Amestris, were connected by what he knew as the Gates of Mandos and Ed knew as the Gate of Truth. What if there were far more connections? There was still the matter of Hawkeye's resemblance to Almiel to be considered.

Beregond's mind tried to reason with him. He was probably reading too much into things. After all, almost all tales followed a familiar pattern; the youth searching for adventure, falling in love, and going through seemingly impossible tasks to earn the right to marry their beloved or to prove their love even after their marriage. And it wasn't far-fetched to consider the possibility that people just happened to resemble each another.

If that were the case though, why did the animals understand him when he spoke in the Elven-Tongue? He still remembered the instant faith the military horse and that farmer's dog had on him when he addressed them in Sindarin. And from where did this knowledge of dragons and gods and creation of stars come? How did these ancestors of Amestris grasp those theories and how was it that they resembled the concepts of his people so much? When he was back in his world, he had travelled into Rhûn and the Southern Lands during peace negotiations. While there, he had been astounded to witness the diversity of culture of those people – including their beliefs on how things were created and the gods that ruled over it. And _they_ were just _neighbouring_ lands.

Beregond rubbed his forehead, feeling that his head was aching from all those questions he was trying so desperately to answer, yet he couldn't. One thing was certain though; he had to look over things very carefully. If everything he had discovered were coincidences, no harm was done – he would probably benefit from the knowledge anyway.

But if they weren't… what then?

He clenched his hands into fists as his mind was finally made up. He didn't just want answers.

He _needed_ them.

TBC...


	4. Fixed

Pinako and Winry took their places next to Ed's automail leg and arm respectively, their wrenches on the ready to make the connection on the boy's nerves.

"Ready? We'll start," Pinako said.

Ed, who was presently sitting on a chair, immediately clenched his teeth. He knew quite well the sort of pain that would come next and he didn't like it one bit.

"One, two…"

_Please, let it not be so bad this time,_ Ed thought, bracing himself.

"Three!"

Ed yelped and jumped as though hit by an electric current.

It was as bad as always!

Fortunately, the pain soon subsided, much to Ed's relief. A weary sigh escaped the young alchemist's lips and he slumped against the chair.

"Are you okay, Ed?" asked Pinako, making sure all the connections on the automail leg were in place.

"Yeah," Ed answered. "I just always hate the moment when the nerves get connected."

"Don't whine," Winry said briskly, working on the final touches on the automail arm. "Try moving your fingers."

Edward complied and moved his mechanical digits one by one, before he carried on as if never interrupted. "But I'll probably be able to say goodbye to this pain. Once I get my hands on the philosopher's stone, I'll restore our bodies and life will be great." He smiled at that kind of prospect.

"That's too bad. You're our cash cow, after all," Pinako said.

"Yeah, don't bother restoring your bodies. Isn't it nice to have automail?" Winry asked. At the mention of her life-long obsession, her gaze softened and became dreamy. "The smell of oil, the squeaking of artificial muscles, the humming of spinning bearings; an ergonomically designed strong, beautiful form... Who needs natural when you've got automail?"

"Loser automail junkie…" Edward muttered under his breath.

"Alchemy freak!" Winry yelled, wielding her wrench threateningly.

"All set!" Pinako announced, putting an end to the escalating argument. "Tell me how it is, Ed."

Ed hesitantly stood up and tested both mechanical limbs by making all sorts of stretches and motions.

"Feels good!" he finally announced, smiling happily.

But Winry felt that something else needed to be said before she considered anything finished.

"I figure you're going to skip out on the daily maintenance anyway, since that's what you always do. Know that the steel you're using now had its chrome ratio raised and it's more rust resistant. Also this new automail will make you faster but it's easier to break too, so _don't_ be reckless."

However, Ed hardly paid attention to what Winry said. Leaving a trail of dust behind, he rushed outside instead, crying exuberantly: "Al, sorry to keep you waiting!"

"Why do I even bother?" Winry mumbled indignantly. Still shaking her head at Ed's immaturity, she started helping her grandmother with the housework.

-----------------------

"Do we have everything, Al?"

Al looked at the heap of metal pieces before him. "Yup, everything's here."

"Will you fix him now?" Armstrong asked Ed curiously.

"Yeah, but there's a trick to it," Ed said. He leaned close to Al. "See the seal on the interior back?" he asked Armstrong, pointing to where there was an intricate alchemic design.

"Yes."

"This seal is acting as the medium between Al's soul and his armour," Ed explained. "I have to make sure that it doesn't get erased whenever I have to fix his limbs."

Armstrong nodded his understanding, his gaze still locked on the red array. It was then that he frowned, because he noticed something odd about it.

"It seems like it was written in blood," he said thoughtfully.

"It _was_ written in blood," Ed replied. "My blood."

Armstrong's beaming aura sparkled brilliantly at those words and tears streamed down the burly man's face.

"The power of brotherly love!" he exclaimed, voice cracking slightly at the touching moment. "It's such a wonderful thing!"

"Swell," Ed groaned, not being the kind of person to appreciate such poetics. "Now can you move? You're in the way."

The sparkles crumbled as quickly as they had appeared, but Ed didn't really notice. He just clapped his hands and placed them on the armour. In a matter of seconds, the light from the alchemic reaction had subsided to reveal a complete Al once more.

"Yes!" Al cried happily, checking himself.

Ed grinned and then tied his hair to a braid with experienced skill. "Okay. Now let's start!" he announced.

"Right!"

At the next instant, they attacked each other with many a kick and punch, engaging themselves in an almost dance-like, yet fierce, combat.

To say that Armstrong was surprised at this would be an understatement.

"What?! Why are you fighting?!" he exclaimed.

"No, no," Ed said with a chuckle, landing on his feet after a particularly powerful push from Al. He retaliated at once with a right backhand and a left kick. "I'm combining a performance check for the new limbs with some sparring."

"And because I wasn't able to move my body for a while, I have to restore its sense of feeling," Al said, successfully blocking his brother's attacks.

Armstrong beamed at once – not always a good sign when it came to his case.

"Then I shall also help!" he declared, his gigantic muscles shredding his shirt again. "I shall go all out!"

Naturally, Ed and Al did the only reasonable thing to do.

They ran away from their very enthusiastic escort before he could come near them.

-------------------------

It was proved that Armstrong wasn't to be underestimated in determination and fighting ability. And so, just when the sun was at its highest point in the sky, three very dusty alchemists made their way to Pinako's house - and one of them was _starving_, as he so eloquently put it.

But there was no need to worry, because Pinako and Winry had already taken care of everything. In less than a quarter of an hour, everyone was sitting around a large table with all kinds of food on it, eating quite hungrily. Well, except for Alphonse, that is; he settled with polishing his helmet.

It was then that Winry decided to ask something that had been puzzling her for some time.

"What were you guys doing anyway? I kept watching you from the window fighting like crazy!"

"Our teacher used to say: 'To train the mind, first train the body'," Al answered.

"That's why we usually have to train ourselves like this," Ed completed amid two food-filled gulps.

"You mean when you have free time you spar?! That'll break the automail right away!" Winry said with a huff.

"Well, _I'm_ making money!" Pinako said with a cackle, drinking some more of her beer.

"However, they are correct," said Armstrong. "A healthy mind lives in a well-trained, beautiful body. Behold _my_ body!" And with that, Armstrong flexed his arms - yet again.

"Al, pass me that sauce," was all that Ed said, not impressed. However, a huge grin soon formed on his lips as another thought occurred to him. "Tomorrow, we'll get on the first train in the morning to Central," he announced.

"Oh, really?" Pinako said. "This place will be quiet again."

Ed nodded. "And then, when we restore our bodies, we won't need you or Winry, Aunt Pinako!" he added, his grin broadening.

"Yeah, right!"

"You jerkface can't even do anything without us mechanics!" said Winry, laughing.

"What do you mean by jerkface?!" Ed exclaimed.

"Well said!" laughed Pinako, approving Winry's words.

Ed just rolled his eyes and resumed eating. He would get his hands on the philosopher's stone. And then there would be no more automail, no more punishments with the wrench for mistreating it, nothing. He would be able to do anything he wanted! He'd fix Al and then help Beregond to return to his home and…

He instantly froze. _Oh no. Three days here and I didn't call him once!_

"Aunt Pinako… Is it okay if I can use your phone after we finish lunch?" he asked.

"You needn't ask. Is it something serious?"

"Not really. I just want to check up on a friend."

Al put his head back in its place. "Can you tell him I said 'hi', too?" he asked happily.

Ed smiled. "That will be the first thing I do, Al."

"And tell him that he doesn't have to worry as long as you're under my protection!" Armstrong said, beaming brightly.

Winry and Pinako exchanged a puzzled glance. Just who were those three talking about anyway?

--------------------------

Riza Hawkeye was certainly surprised to hear the phone in Edward's office ringing. Holding the papers that Beregond had left for her on the desk in one hand, she picked up the receiver.

"Hello, this is 1st Lieutenant Hawkeye speaking."

"Lieutenant Hawkeye?" Ed sounded from the other end of the line. "I thought I took the number of _my_ office."

"You did," Riza said. "I was just close enough to answer it."

"Beregond isn't there then?" There was a small pause. "Is he still at the hospital?"

Riza, being the observant woman she was, noticed the slight tone of concern and apprehension in Edward's voice when he made the last question. She couldn't help but smile a bit. "No, don't worry. He's just not here at present. He's gone to the library."

"Oh… Did he say when he'd be back?"

"I'm afraid not. But from what I understood, he didn't intend to return anytime soon. He meant to study there," she answered. She had seen Beregond taking his journal and a file with him, after all. He also seemed very troubled when he told her where he would be going, but she decided against telling Ed that last part. She didn't want the young alchemist to worry. "I can tell him to call you back though," she offered.

"No, that's all right. We'll be on the move by tomorrow anyway," Ed said quickly. "Just tell him that Alphonse and I had our limbs fixed. And that Al and Major Armstrong send their regards. And tell him that…" Ed paused momentarily. "Tell him we'll return as soon as possible and with a solution to his problem as well."

Riza nodded. "I'll tell him. Goodbye, Edward." And with that she hung up. She could almost picture Ed putting down the receiver with a sigh, whispering: "Hopefully I'll get to talk to you next time, Beregond."

-----------------------

"Let's see now," Sarah Abbot said, scrutinising the top shelf on one of the huge bookcases that surrounded her. "Leslie S. Graves… Matthew Lewis… Ah, here it is. John Ronald Syndow, _Book of Mythical Tales_." The librarian grabbed a large book and handed it to Beregond.

Beregond looked at the book curiously, feeling the texture of the hardcover and skimming through a few select pages. "That's all?" he asked.

"No," Sarah answered. "There are about five volumes of this work. You're just holding the first and shortest."

Beregond swallowed hard as he looked at the other four volumes that Sarah was now pointing at him.

They were _huge!_

But Beregond was never the type of person to avoid hard work. He would just grit his teeth and see through it. "Then if I'm to begin from somewhere, I'd better start with this," he said, patting the book he was currently holding.

"Very well," Sarah said with a nod. "But please, be careful with it. It's quite rare."

"Don't worry; I'll take good care of it. Thank you, Mrs. Abbot."

"You're welcome," said Sarah, smiling. "When you're done, just tell me."

"I will," Beregond promised and then settled on a desk nearby to start work.

He didn't stop reading once before Sarah's familiar voice made him look up.

"Yes?" he asked, not really understanding what the librarian wanted.

"It's closing time. You may continue tomorrow with your research, if you like."

Beregond blinked and looked outside the window. He was quite taken aback to see the black night, studded with stars. Still not believing that it could possibly be that late, he looked at the great clock at the other side of the room, only to finally admit that it _was_ late. He smiled at Sarah wearily.

"Of course."

He stood up and, after picking all his research material, he walked out, bidding Sarah goodnight. And, figuring that it would be no use to return to Edward's office to catch up with any paperwork that could be done tomorrow anyway, he decided to go straight home. Besides, he needed some time by himself to think.

He took a deep breath to smell the fragrance of the night and he instantly felt invigorated. His step became more brisk and, soon enough, he was lost in his thoughts, hardly paying attention to anything or anyone anymore.

Beregond had to admit that, though the book he was reading so far had nothing to do with what he had meant to read at first, it was still interesting. It was an introduction to Amestrian Mythology, a term the author used quite a few times. Namely, it was explaining the origin of those myths; how they were formed through the ages by word of mouth in camp-fires and by old-wives; as well as their importance even in the modern society of Amestris. Because, as the author said at the end of a particular chapter: "All these myths aren't just of historical interest, offering the reader a glimpse on how our ancestors regarded their world through their extinct culture, but they serve as simple lessons of moral to the common man who isn't acquainted with the high art of philosophy; to learn to praise the ethical and condemn the sinful."

Though Beregond couldn't agree more to that, he still felt he had to find out more. Because, what _wasn't_ explained in that book was _where_ did the author find those myths and what kind of research did he go through to collect all of them.

There was nothing for it though. All Beregond could do for the present was to read all the books to see what kind of information he could get from them.

With that last thought and realising where he was now, he mechanically searched for the keys in his pocket to unlock the door of his house. Once the door was open, he walked in with a sigh, wanting nothing more now than to rest a bit.

He didn't see a lithe form moving in the shadows, watching him curiously.

----------------------

Resembool was also covered in darkness and the lights in every house started going out as every villager was going to sleep. In fact, there was someone in the little village that had _already_ fallen asleep. In the closest and hardest surface he found - and in the worst position according to his brother.

"He fell asleep with his stomach exposed again!" said Al, his tone of voice betraying the scowl that his face of iron hid.

"You act just like his guardian, Al," Pinako pointed out teasingly.

"But I've really had enough. It's a pain to have a high-maintenance brother."

Winry laughed as she brought a blanket to cover Ed. "It's hard to tell who is watching over whom!"

Suddenly, Al's body twitched in amusement. "That's exactly what I thought when I had to travel with Ed and Beregond at the northern borders!" he said with a small, childlike chuckle.

"Who?" Winry asked, confused.

Pinako's expression showed that she was just as curious.

"A friend of ours," explained Al. "He's the one brother phoned in the afternoon."

"Oh, that's nice!" Winry said with a smile. "But why didn't you bring him, too? I would have definitely liked to meet him."

"He couldn't come. He got hurt in his attempt to protect us in a fight. He was still in the hospital when we left."

"Protecting you?" Pinako asked thoughtfully. "So he's not just a friend, am I right?"

Alphonse nodded. "He's also Brother's secretary and escort in the military."

Winry blinked. "I never expected Ed would befriend anyone from the army."

"It's a long story," Alphonse said, scratching his head embarrassedly.

"I'm curious enough to endure it," said Pinako.

"So am I. So let's hear it, Al."

And so Alphonse told them everything: how they heard of someone being accused of murder that he probably didn't commit and their first encounter of him at the hospital. He told them of the first time that the man spoke to them and how Beregond came to share a room with them. In fact, he told everything up to the point that Beregond came to their aid when the brothers were in danger. The one thing that Al didn't say was just _where_ Beregond was from. He just said that an alchemic accident made the man lose everything and he was brought in Amestris.

"So now we're helping each other," Al concluded.

Winry nodded. "He sounds like a good man. You should have brought him here."

Al laughed. "It would be difficult. He hates travelling by train. He's scared to death of it. The first time that we all three had to travel on one, all of us ended up on the floor as Brother and I tried to get him in it."

Winry laughed, too. Pinako, on the other hand, seemed quite pensive at those words.

"You sound to be very fond of him, Alphonse," she said.

If Al could blush, he would have. "It's just that these past few months he became a big part in our lives," he said. He looked briefly at Ed, who was still sleeping. "Brother didn't like that at first, to be honest, and he was rather cold towards him for a while. But then, as we taught Beregond alchemy and he in his turn told us his story, Brother came to understand him better."

"It was the 'loss' part, I suppose," Pinako said. She looked at Al. "The pain of losing something as a home to go back to must have really hit you hard."

"Yeah. That's why we're always grateful to you and Winry for being here for us like a real family," Al said.

However, the mention of a home stirred in Al sorrowful feelings and that was quite audible at his next words.

"But still, the reality is that the house we were born and raised doesn't exist anymore. I don't regret burning our house down, but there are times that I really want to cry." He looked out the window, as though trying to find some comfort in the peace that the silence of the night offered. "You know, the first night that I was looking after Beregond, he cried. He didn't make a sound, so I didn't realise what happened until the next morning; yet he had cried long and hard. I didn't understand why at first, but now I do.

"Still, he never gave up. He got up and moved forward, like Brother would say." He sighed and hanged his head. "I'd probably break down if I cried just once. But I can't cry with this body."

Winry turned at Ed's direction, a rueful smile tugging on her lips. "And there's a dummy who doesn't cry even if he has the body and every reason for it," she said softly.

Al and Pinako nodded, whole-heartedly agreeing.

They never noticed Armstrong overhearing the conversation, crying quietly at the sadness of the conversation.

--------------------------

A rooster signalled the dawn of a new day, though four forms were already stirring from their slumber. After all, Ed, Al and Armstrong had to catch a train, whereas Pinako Rockbell wanted to see them off. By the time Ed had put on the final touch on his attire, his white gloves, the sun was already up, brightening everything with its light.

"Thanks for taking care of us, Aunt Pinako," he said as they all walked outside. He placed the suitcase right beside him.

"No sweat, kid," said Pinako, smiling. "It was good seeing you again."

Al, however, noticed that someone was missing from the picture. "Where's Winry?"

Pinako let out a smoke ring and took for a brief second the pipe off her mouth. "Still sound asleep since she stayed up the whole night. Do you want me to wake her up?"

Ed immediately waved his hand dismissively. "No, it's okay. She'd blab on and on about taking care of the automail or something like that if she were here." He checked himself one more time to make sure that he had taken care of everything and then picked up his suitcase again. "Well, see you. Take care."

And with that, all three visitors started walking away.

"You boys come back once in a while and eat some breakfast, you hear?" called Pinako.

"Yeah, we'll drop by some time!" Al called back.

"Who'd drop by this far into the mountains just to eat?" Ed muttered under his breath. Suddenly, Armstrong chuckled loudly in his rumbling voice. "What?" the young alchemist asked, not getting the joke.

"I was just thinking what a wonderful thing it is to have a place to return to and a family to welcome you," explained Armstrong.

Ed snorted. "Really. We're the wandering sort of people who go from journey to journey." Yup, he wouldn't miss being in Resembool at all. He was a nomad. No home could keep him, because home was always in his heart.

"Ed! Al!"

Edward and Alphonse instantly turned at the sound of Winry's voice. The girl was indeed in her balcony, still sleep-tussled and drowsy. It was obvious that she had put a great effort to wake up and see her friends off.

"See you later!" she called.

Okay, Ed hoped that he didn't have to go through with that. It was always difficult for him to say goodbye, no matter how detached he'd make himself from the person he had to say goodbye to. He scratched his head and then turned around once more, making just a brief motion with his automail hand in a wave.

"Yeah. Later."

Moments later, he and the others were gone.

---------------

That small wave made Winry smile. Acting tough or not, Ed was still a softie. She went back into her room, stifling a yawn, and down the stairs to find Pinako.

"'morning, Granny," she said, stretching herself.

"What do you mean by 'morning'?" Pinako asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's late!"

Winry blinked, confused. She looked at her alarm clock and gasped at the time she read there. "I slept all day!"

Pinako nodded as she carried a basket full of dirty laundry. "And you have plenty of work, too." She motioned her head at the direction of the workbench, showing Winry the mess of bolts, wrenches and screws that were lying in a scattered manner there.

"Oh, I left it like that after fixing Ed's arm!" the young girl said.

"You sure did. And now it's time you cleaned it up." A phone suddenly rang, almost startling the grandmother and granddaughter.

"I'll get this," Pinako said, and let Winry be.

Winry waited to see who called, only to hear Pinako saying: "Hello? No, I'm sorry, you've just missed him. He's gone to Central, I believe…"

_Okay, it's not for me_, Winry thought; so she resumed with her job.

That is, until Pinako hanged up and muttered: "Nosy parkers…"

"What's the matter? Who was it?" Winry asked.

"A young man; he said he wanted to talk to Ed," answered Pinako. "Sounded like military to me."

"That's a surprise. They know the number here?"

"That's what being in the military means. Know more than they let on," Pinako replied and picked the basket with the laundry again. "I'll be upstairs if you need me."

Winry only nodded. Humming softly, she picked up her wrench and got ready to put it back in the toolbox.

It was then that she saw something odd.

A bolt that shouldn't have been there.

A bolt that should have been in Ed's shoulder - right now!

_Uh-oh._

Winry just hoped that that slip-up would go unnoticed until the next maintenance check.

_TBC..._


	5. Research

Beregond hung up and let out a sigh. He should have returned in the office last night. Then he would have talked with Riza sooner and he would have learned about Edward's phone call on time. Not to mention that there wouldn't be the pressing matter of having to dig into Edward's files and find the Rockbells' telephone number either. Now his chance of telling the boys what he had found out was gone.

Well, it couldn't be helped. He would just have to wait till Edward called again. It was true that Beregond intended to spend even longer periods of time in the library, what with his duties dropping almost to a minimum with Edward away. So he hoped that he would just be lucky enough to be in the office when the phone rang again - or that Edward would think to call the library next time, at least.

Besides, there was the probability that no real harm was done. When Edward would call again, Beregond would perhaps be able to give him some tangible information rather than mere speculations.

With that last thought, he checked his desk one last time to make sure that there was nothing for him to do today, then picked up his research material and walked out.

He noticed the medium-sized dog crossing his path too late. Beregond tried to avoid him but he accidentally stepped on his paw, causing the dog to yelp frantically.

"Im naer, mellon nín!" (I'm sorry, my friend!) Beregond said at once in a soft manner, checking the damage he had done on the poor animal. The black and white dog sat still, keeping his aching paw curled close to him. He whined softly on occasion; nevertheless, he trusted the man to take care of him.

Beregond smiled. It didn't seem that the dog was really hurt and he figured the pain would soon go away. "Nestatha, avo 'osto," (It will heal, don't fear) he concluded kindly, giving the dog a soft pat on his head. He chuckled when the dog rewarded him with a small nudge of his black nose.

Yet the question remained.

"O mas telich? Man eneth lín?" (Where did you come from? What's your name?) Beregond asked the dog as if he were talking to a child.

"Hayate!"

Beregond knew that it wasn't the dog who answered _that_, of course. So he turned at the direction of the voice to see Fuery hurrying towards them with a leash in his hand.

"Oh, good, you found him!" the sergeant major said with relief. "If I lost him, I would have to answer to Riza!"

"It would be difficult not to find him. I tripped on him," Beregond said.

It was then that he realised something and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Hayate? _Black_ Hayate? That's Riza's dog?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Fuery said. "You know of him then?"

"Havoc had told me this story about how the dog came to become part of the 'family' some time ago," Beregond answered. He shuddered as he recalled the rather nasty joke Havoc had pulled on the animal, saying aloud how tasty it could be. "But Havoc was talking about a pup and now I see a big dog!" He gave Hayate another light pat on the head. "How come he's with you?"

"Well, Riza lets me spend some time with him every once in a while," Fuery said. "But _he_," and at that he pointed at Hayate, "thought otherwise today."

Hayate bowed his head and made a whining sound of shame. He was quite aware that they were talking about him.

"Well, I suppose he couldn't wait to run a bit," Beregond said, this time petting the dog affectionately.

"I guess so," Fuery said, smiling. "Well, there's no point in making him wait any longer." He placed the leash around Hayate's neck. "Thanks for the help, Beregond."

"No problem."

However, when Fuery got ready to walk away with Hayate, both men noticed that the dog had planted his legs on the ground and he wouldn't budge. And they were taken aback to see Hayate looking behind Beregond, stiffened and with the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

"Hayate?" Fuery said, unsure. "What is it?"

Hayate only made a small growling sound in answer, still looking behind Beregond.

Both Fuery and Beregond looked at the same direction, but there was nothing to be seen.

"Man cenich?" (What do you see?) the Gondorian asked Hayate, puzzled. With his hands clenched into fists and ready to fight if necessary, Beregond walked at the end of the corridor. He looked on his left and right, yet there was nothing there.

What was more, Hayate had by now calmed down.

"That's strange," Fuery noted, straightening his glasses. "This is the first time he's been acting like that."

"Well, whatever it was that unsettled him is gone now," Beregond said. "Perhaps he caught some smell that wasn't appealing to him."

"Maybe," Fuery agreed. He shook his head, ridding himself of any troubling thoughts. "Anyway, we had better go. We've already slowed your visit to the library enough."

Beregond blinked. "How did you--?" But one look at himself made him chuckle in understanding. He was holding his notebook, so it wasn't that difficult for Fuery to come to his conclusion.

"Yes, well… I had better be going then," said the Gondorian, smiling. "Till later, Fuery."

"Later," Fuery said with a smile of his own and, a brief wave of his hand later, he was gone.

It was only when Beregond had left too that there was movement again.

When an air vent on the wall was pushed out of place and Envy climbed out of it.

"Pesky animals…" he muttered under his breath. "Their noses are a pain in the neck."

And keeping in mind that he ought to be more careful next time, he changed to a female private so he could resume his stalking.

---------------------------

Though the library was quite busy at that time of day, there was hardly any noise to be heard. The people inside were simply too wrapped up in their studying to pay attention to their surroundings.

That was why no one cared to look at a male college student with glasses on a desk nearby. If they had, they would notice that he was doing anything but reading.

Envy dared another peek from the book he was holding up to keep up appearances and checked on his _true_ object of observation. The sergeant was still on the desk just a few feet away from him, and Envy could see that the man's eyes were locked on the page he was currently reading, whereas his right hand was clutching a pen in order to scribble anything of importance.

Envy frowned and looked at the large clock on the other end of the wall. He was quite surprised when he read the time there and realised how long had it been since he followed the sergeant into the library.

_Four hours?! How long does he plan on staying here?!_

He cast another brief glance at the man, noting the way the latter's lips moved inconspicuously as he kept reading. Envy had gotten his answer.

_Till he drops out of exhaustion._

Now Envy couldn't help but feel curiosity flaring within him. What was the sergeant reading with such interest anyway? They weren't in the alchemy books' section, so Envy was more than certain that the sergeant wasn't reading anything that had to do with alchemy. So what was that man up to?

Envy decided that he might as well look briefly at the book he was holding, since it would offer him a clue as to what kind of books there were in this section. He caught sight of a paragraph in which were described several artefacts that were found many feet below ground, the oldest ones so far to be found in fact – they were about 9,000 years old.

_History? How dull,_ he thought with a roll of his eyes. After all, if anyone wanted to know about history, they could just as well ask _him_.

But in spite of his aversion to that particular genre of literature, Envy was now even more intrigued. It was strange for an alchemist that seemed almost as powerful as the Fullmetal shrimp to search history books.

On the other hand, Fullmetal was conducting research on the philosopher's stone and the sergeant was working under the pipsqueak's orders. Perhaps the guy was looking even in history books for anything concerning the philosopher's stone. That probability didn't seem all that far-fetched.

_Odd place to search for clues though._

Nevertheless, the sergeant seemed really focused on what he was doing. Maybe he _had_ found something?

Envy felt that he could just kill to find out what the man was reading.

Actually, kill twice – he wanted to have a look at the sergeant's notebook, too.

It was then that Envy saw the sergeant suddenly frown. He had obviously read something that puzzled him or something that he didn't like. Whatever it was, it made the man stand up and vanish in the maze of bookcases surrounding him in search of another book.

Envy instantly jumped at the chance. Looking around him and making sure that the sergeant wasn't coming back just yet, he walked up to the man's desk and looked at the page on which the book was open.

…_It has to be noted that, in times when alchemy wasn't developed properly, a lot of the forces of nature which the common folk couldn't comprehend were attributed to entities that were always depicted dreadful in their power, yet wise and kind to virtuous people. Though those entities were deified, they were also given human characteristics so as to…_

Envy raised an eyebrow as soon as he read those words. Since when did an alchemist take an interest in gods? Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the notebook.

_What the…?!_

There was nothing there but a series of random pen strokes and ink-blots!

Envy was still looking incredulously at the notebook, when the sound of footsteps snapped him out of his shock. He quickly hurried behind a nearby bookcase.

Not a moment too soon. A second later, the sergeant came back with another book in his hands, mumbling softly to himself while looking for something in it.

"De… Dei… Aha! Deify…"

Envy huffed under his breath.

That's what he went to look for? A dictionary?

Well, if anything, it was one more proof that the man was a foreigner. Envy was still puzzled by the strange language he heard when the sergeant spoke to the dog because, even though he was old, the homunculus was sure that he had never heard anything quite like it in his life.

The sergeant grew silent again as he resumed his reading. Envy kept his eyes on the man from his new hideout and, moments later, he saw him taking up his pen again and writing something on the notebook.

Envy narrowed his eyes, for he understood that his first assumptions were erroneous. The sergeant wasn't merely doodling in that notebook. He was clearly writing, most probably in an alchemic code.

If that were the case, Envy knew who would be able to decipher those notes. All he had to do now was get his hands on that notebook.

"May I help you, sir?"

Envy quickly turned at the sound of the voice. A young woman, a librarian from the looks of it, was now looking at him quizzically. His eyes instantly fell on the nametag on the librarian's uniform: Sarah Abbot.

"No, I was just putting back a book in its place," Envy said at once, smiling innocently. "Thank you for the offer though."

"No problem. Have a good day, sir," she said with a polite smile and turned on her heel to resume with her work.

Envy nodded, his face becoming positively murderous when the librarian vanished out of sight. He quickly turned again to spy on the sergeant.

But the man was nowhere to be seen. In that crucial moment that Envy wasn't looking, he had decided to leave.

_Damn it._ He quickly got out of his hiding spot and looked around, but he didn't catch any sight of the sergeant.

That is, until he heard a new set of footsteps behind him. Deciding to be discreet, Envy turned his head just enough so that he could check things from the corner of his eye.

To his good fortune, it was the sergeant.

"Have you finished already, Mr. Beregond?" the woman by the name of Abbot asked, noticing the sergeant's departure.

"Just for today, I'm afraid. It will be quite some time before I can claim my work is completely done," the sergeant said with a shake of his head. "I'll just head back to Headquarters in case there are any phone-calls for me."

"Very well," the woman answered with a nod. "Till then, Mr. Beregond."

"Goodbye."

Envy rolled his eyes and started following the sergeant back to headquarters. One thing that the homunculus did come to find out about the sergeant was that his life was numbingly boring, shared among library, office and house. Now he just hoped that, if he were to discover anything else, it would be a damn good thing to make up for the hours of the dreary watching he had to go through.

------------------

Though Beregond had said to Sarah that he intended to return to Headquarters, he didn't wish to rush matters either. His head ached after all those hours of studying and he needed his breath of fresh air. So, he walked slowly and in a carefree manner – even though his thoughts were anything but carefree. There was a puzzle lodged on his head which he couldn't get rid of before sorting it out.

In his book, Syndow was saying, more or less, that gods were a figment of the peoples' imagination. In other words, because they believed everything that moved must have had a spirit within it, they conjured up images of gods with human characteristics. As Syndow wrote on, the reason behind this was the notion that, if anything could have a power over anything, the same way Man had over animals and plants, it had to be something with the intelligence, the knowledge and wisdom that a human could have. It would just be a lot more powerful.

But then, Beregond wondered, if that were true, what was the force behind the creation of _this_ world?

_In the beginning, Eru, the One, who in the Elvish tongue is named Ilúvatar, made the Ainur of his thought; and they made great Music before him. In this Music the World was begun._

That was how the story of the creation of his world started. Perhaps Syndow was right in the matter of giving names and characteristics seen among ordinary people to those forces. But could it be denied that those forces didn't exist? That those forces didn't have the power to create? Besides, as the story went: _and if little is said of all that the Eldar once knew, that is as nothing compared with the Valar's – the Greatest among the spirits of the Ainur - true being, which goes back into regions and ages far beyond one's thought._

Perhaps that was the case for the Amestrian world too. Just because such forces were beyond the realm of alchemic science, it couldn't possibly mean that they weren't present. After all, it wasn't alchemy that created the trees, or the sky, or the earth – or even all the living things in this world.

On the other hand, Beregond wasn't sure that the forces behind the creation of the world of Amestris were the same as the ones behind the creation of Arda. _The Valar saw Ëa, the world that is, and they became enamoured by it and they wished to give breath to the vision they sang. But once in that world, they were forever bound into it and they could not leave it._

So it had to be other kinds of forces, similar ones at that; or even… one.

Suddenly, Dr. Marcoh's words sprang into Beregond's memory.

_Ishbalans were people that worshipped their absolute_ one _god of creation._

One god, one force; just like his people believed: one god to create everything else, including other gods.

It was then that another question formed in Beregond's mind. What if Ilúvatar and the Ishbalan god were, in fact, two names to describe the same force of creation?

Beregond realised that he needed more information on the Ishbalan theology if he were to answer that question; first-hand information at that.

But where could he find it?

Going to Ishbal was out of the question. It was too time consuming and, more importantly, it involved travelling with train. He preferred to avoid _that_, if he could help it.

The library was the next best option, but Beregond doubted he would be able to find that kind of information at once – if he _would_ be able to find it. Since Ishbal was an enemy country, there probably wouldn't be any authors willing to write all that much information about it. The Ishbalans would certainly not be open to give out that kind of information to a foreigner. That meant looking to other, dubious sources and bibliography. No, if he wanted that information, he wanted to be sure it was correct.

Scar would have certainly been useful right about now.

Oh, yes, Beregond pictured it even now. _Please, don't think ill of me for stopping you from killing Edward and Alphonse. You see, I was just wondering if you could possibly introduce me to the basics of your peoples' theology. I'd be much obliged._

The mental image of Scar's way of saying "no" – grabbing Beregond and making his insides explode – was a rather macabre one, to say the least. Nevertheless, Beregond couldn't help but chuckle inwardly.

If anything, that settled the third option as out of the question too.

There was also Dr. Marcoh to be considered, but Beregond felt quite certain that the good doctor had already said everything he knew concerning the Ishbalans on their first meeting.

So where should he turn to?

It was when he looked up to see the gates of the Eastern Headquarters in the distance that he remembered something important. Colonel Mustang had fought in Ishbal; Beregond remembered Riza mentioning that a couple of times. That meant that the Colonel must have come across some useful information while there.

Beregond felt his heart sinking a bit. Could he possibly be so bold and ask the Colonel about that kind of knowledge? It would be considered indiscretion. Moreover, Beregond didn't wish to confide in anyone about the details of his work so far. If he asked the Colonel about Ishbal, he would have to tell him about his suspicions as well – with the risk of being dismissed as delusional.

Yet what other choice did he have, if he were ever to proceed with his research? And, if Beregond could tell Mustang that he was from a place called Middle-earth, he could also tell him why he needed to know about Ishbal, right?

That settled it. Beregond would ask. He swiftly went up the stairs to the Colonel's office to get this over with as soon as possible.

To his surprise, he didn't find any of the familiar faces he had been looking for, let alone the Colonel himself. Riza wasn't on her own desk, right outside Mustang's office; Havoc was nowhere in sight; and even Breda and Falman were absent. The only one Beregond could account for was Fuery; the Gondorian knew pretty well that he was out with Hayate.

Still, Beregond knocked on the door to the Colonel's office.

There was no answer. Not from inside the office anyway.

"He's not here."

Beregond turned to face the young private who spoke to him. "Excuse me?"

The private saluted courteously before replying: "You're looking for Colonel Mustang, aren't you, Sir?"

"Yes."

"Well, he's not here. He and most of his unit are searching the city for any signs of that alchemist serial killer."

Beregond cursed mentally. He had completely forgotten about that.

"Do you know when he will be back?"

"Not sure, sir."

There was nothing for it then. After saying a brief "Thanks" to the private, he turned on his heel and headed towards the exit again.

What should he do now?

Beregond's gaze drifted outside the window on his left as he still walked. And when he noticed what a beautiful, clear day it was - although it was almost the winter season by now – he stopped on his tracks.

The sky was quite blue and the sun shone brightly, though not as warmly as if it were spring or summer. It certainly didn't stop the little birds from flying restlessly in the air, doing manoeuvres and chirping loudly.

Before Beregond realised what he was doing, he had walked up to the window, his hand reaching for the glass and placing it there. It was in times like these that, when Beregond was back to his world, he would ride out and find a perfectly isolated and quiet place in order to train his body, repeating the moves he had been taught from childhood.

Beregond blinked as realisation hit him; then smiled. He knew what to do now.

Besides, he needed it after his fight with Scar.

----------------------------

Ten minutes later, Beregond was at the training grounds. He passed by several trainees that were already there locked in physical combat, and went up to one of the trainers. A brief glance at the man's person told Beregond at once that he was addressing a major, so he saluted. "Sir?"

Major Moser looked Beregond from head to toe and then saluted cordially as well. "Can I help you, Sergeant?" he asked.

"I was wondering if there are any swords available for training, Sir."

The major nodded. "Yes, as a matter of fact, we have several of them in the weapons' room. However…" Moser eyed Beregond, raising an eyebrow. "I don't remember seeing you here before."

"Well, I…" Beregond started explaining, but he stopped when he noticed Moser's face lit up with familiarity.

"You are that foreigner," he said knowingly. "The one under Fullmetal's command, right? Beregond, isn't it?"

Beregond's surprise must have been evident, because the major chuckled.

"Hey, in these facilities everyone gets to know about everyone eventually; especially about someone who works for a child-prodigy," Moser explained. "Not to mention that your name, Sergeant, was involved in some pretty interesting incidents rather recently." He grinned broadly. "So you feel up to some training?"

Beregond nodded. "I need to make sure my body is still in good condition."

"Well, you know where the swords are. Choose any you like."

"Thank you, Sir."

But choosing a good sword turned out to be a task easier said than done. Beregond didn't expect that the swords of Amestris would be anything like the swords in his own home, of course. Still, he never expected the Amestrian ones would be so… flimsy, either; their blades were too thin and light. Beregond understood that this was done on purpose in favour of speed. On the other hand, the Gondorian couldn't help thinking that such swords were also easier to break. How could they possibly serve in battle?

Beregond shook his head. He'd give anything for a good, sturdy sword like the one he had.

_Then why not make one?_

Beregond's eyes widened as the thought occurred to him. He had completely forgotten that he could perform alchemy! He looked around in search of anything that could be used as basic materials for his sword, and noticed that there were several sabres and rapiers placed aside. He wielded a couple of them, curious to see why that bunch was separated from the rest. He finally decided that the blades were either blunt or chipped after much use. They were useless in that state.

_Well, I think I've just found a use for them,_ Beregond thought. Concentrating, he clapped his hands and placed them on the flawed swords. In a matter of seconds, the light of the transmutation reaction had subsided and there was a magnificent-looking sword in Beregond's hands. Its straight blade was gleaming as though it was made of silver and was decorated with elegant carvings. The image of Gondor's emblem could also be seen on its pommel, coloured in ebony and ivory.

Beregond couldn't help but smile, his fingers tracing the outline of the sword proudly. He swung the weapon a couple of times while his ears picked up the faint swooshing sound. The sword felt incredibly light, yet its balance was top notch and Beregond's grip on it steady as though that it was a part of himself.

In other words… it was perfect.

Grinning happily, Beregond used his alchemy again to create a leather scabbard as well. After checking himself one last time and deeming that he was ready, he walked out to start his training.

Major Moser was certainly surprised to see what kind of sword there was in the Gondorian's hands. He quickly called Beregond and asked him to show it to him.

Though slightly apprehensive at this, Beregond decided to oblige him. He drew the sword out of its scabbard.

"We don't have that kind of swords in the weapons' room," Moser commented, examining the weapon curiously. "Where did you get this one?"

"I, uh… transmuted it, Sir. I used the swords that were faulty," Beregond answered.

"Indeed?" Moser actually grinned. "Working under Fullmetal has rubbed off on you, eh?"

"You could say that, Sir," Beregond said embarrassedly.

"Well, you've done quite a good job at it. Trust me… I know," Moser said, showing Beregond the silver watch that all State Alchemists carried as identification item, smiling. He placed the silver watch back in his pocket. "However, I'm not sure why you would want to create such a sword. Though it's beautiful, it's rather difficult to handle, isn't it?"

"I'm well acquainted with that kind of weapon. It doesn't prevent my movements, Sir," said Beregond.

"I see," Moser said, nodding his understanding. "Well then, you may carry on."

Beregond bowed his head slightly as he was dismissed, and finally walked up to a secluded enough area of the training grounds. He closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths to empty himself of all distracting thoughts. He gripped the handle with both hands, placing himself in defensive position, and then started practising his manoeuvres.

_Step two, thrust…Breathe…Step one, swing, step two, swing, upper defence…Breathe… Swirl around and strike._

As Beregond still trained, he felt his heart beating faster for more reasons than the exercise his body was going through. The feel of the sword in his hands, the fighting style and his seclusion from unfriendly eyes made him travel with his mind's eye at another place, back to the time when he was sparring with Faramir. Upon asked, Beregond would say with certainty that he was even able to hear the clanging of Faramir's sword in his; his friend's laughter and the loud whistle of a falcon, the only spectator in their mock clash.

That made his body move faster. He was getting exhilarated, and soon all thoughts had seized to be. It was only him, the sun and the earth. He couldn't stop his slashing and swishing now even if he wanted to. His manoeuvres became more complicated, more difficult and demanding; yet he performed them with flawless grace.

He only stopped when, after a mighty spring, he landed on his feet and thrust his sword deep on the ground in a finishing blow.

A series of gasps snapped him out of his fight trance and he instantly looked up.

Everyone had stopped his training and was looking at him, mouth open.

"What…?" Beregond faltered, unsure as to what to say and very self-conscious all of a sudden.

"You… you split the ground in two!" said one of the privates, his eyes widened in shock.

"And your sword didn't even get a scratch!" said another one.

Beregond blinked and looked down. There, indeed, was a large crack right where his sword had been embedded. And his sword was, truly enough, intact.

"My apologies," the Gondorian murmured. He got ready to clap his hands and fix the damage.

"Sergeant, wait!" It was Major Moser who said that. He approached Beregond and pointed at the hole. "How did you do that?"

Beregond scratched his head. "It's difficult to explain, really. It's a matter of reaching the highest of speeds at the right moment."

Moser smiled. "Now I understand why you favour that sword. One blow can prove fatal to the opponent. And, when there's more than one, you don't waste any energy by slashing three or four times each of your adversaries."

"You have it correct, sir," said Beregond, nodding. He caught sight of the crack again. "I should fix this."

Moser just laughed. "Leave it! Once I tell everyone how it was done, not only they won't mind, but they'll actually be impressed!"

"On the contrary, Major Moser, _I_ mind and I'm _not_ impressed!"

Everybody turned to see a very furious-looking Lieutenant Colonel Fawcette walking towards their direction and standing in front of Beregond. He pointed at him accusingly.

"Sergeant, I knew that one day you would take advantage of the military's leniency, but the way you chose to do it is appalling. Do you know the penalty for damaging state property?"

Beregond felt himself flaring, but he didn't allow his emotions to run away with him. "As I was telling Major Moser, I can fix it," he said slowly.

"With your alchemistic conjuring, no doubt," Fawcette snapped. "The same way that you broke it?"

"Sir, with all due respect," said Moser, "I am a State Alchemist and I can assure you that I would have noticed if Sergeant Beregond had used alchemy. I know the light of an alchemic reaction when I see one."

Beregond glared at Fawcette indignantly. "I didn't use Alchemy. The damage was done out of sheer force and by accident; I have already apologised for that."

Fawcette didn't bother to acknowledge Beregond this time. He smirked at Moser. "Really, Major… Did his innocent-sounding talk and his acting all noble and good get to you, too? Do you really want to know who you are actually trying to cover?"

"Cover…?" Moser started, his eyes widened.

"Yes, cover," Fawcette snapped, not allowing the major to continue. He glared at Beregond. "He is a damn liar. He always lies his way out of trouble. Did you know that he once faked a mental illness to avoid an arrest? That he claimed that he used to be a soldier before so as to take the exams to join the military? That he used the same lie to skip ranks and start as a sergeant? I still wonder how he managed to find himself in the same unit of the very people who seem to go in extreme lengths to protect him." He turned to Beregond, his eyes filled with resentment. "So, _Sergeant_… What lie did you use that time? I do want to know."

Beregond felt his body trembling in sheer outrage at those accusations, but Fawcette hardly paid any attention to it. He simply kept on.

"Then there's the matter of the heroics to get the people's attention he so much craves. Even getting himself injured so that his theatrics can be the more dramatic. You've heard of the Guyton incident, haven't you, Major Moser? Let me tell you something that not all that many people know. This person here, though it seemed that he could fight back his captor at any given moment, chose to do so when there was a crowd to watch the show. But things didn't go that well with Scar, did they, _sergeant?_ Because Scar didn't feel like being part of a performance."

Beregond bit his lower lip to stop himself from lashing out, but it was useless. The only thing he could do was control his words and simply say: "You know nothing about me."

Fawcette only paused for a moment. "Oh, that's right! I don't! Then again, who does?" he said sarcastically, fake laughter escaping his lips. "I warned you that I'd make my search on you and it's interesting what I came up with. Do you want to hear it, Major Moser?"

Beregond's heart missed a beat.

"Nothing. No birthday certificates; no relations or friends; no address of residence until about nine months ago; no school certificate – nothing. All he had with him when found were plates of armour, torn clothes and some foreign ape-talk. So from which part of the sky did you exactly fall, _Sergeant?_" Fawcette snorted and looked at the rest of the soldiers. "And now everyone here is gawping and treating you like some damn hero. Well, _hero_… Let's see this mess fixed _without_ you using alchemy. And it better not be here by tomorrow when I come to inspect the grounds."

Beregond didn't say anything this time. He simply bowed his head, something that didn't escape Fawcette's attention. Snorting, the lieutenant colonel walked away, muttering the word "ape".

He never saw Beregond _smiling_. But the other bystanders did.

"All right, break it up, people; you've seen enough," Moser said at that moment, clapping his hands once to get everyone's attention. As soon as he gave that command, the crowd quickly dispersed and carried on as usual. He then leant close to Beregond, his expression clearly showing his puzzlement.

"You are a strange man," he said quietly. "Lieutenant Colonel Fawcette practically insulted you in front of every one of us and you are smiling."

"In all honesty, Sir? I would prefer to show him how much better I control my hand than he controls his tongue," Beregond said boldly. "But I have thought of a more gratifying payback. May I ask for your assistance?"

"You may have it, once you explain what you have in mind."

"I want you and a private to act as witnesses in case I'm accused again for something I didn't do."

"What are you planning to do?" asked Moser.

"I'll fix the hole, of course."

Moser looked at Beregond as if the sergeant had gone crazy. It seemed that he was intrigued enough to indulge Beregond though, because he turned and called at the private closest to them. "What's your name?" he asked when the private approached them and saluted.

"Private Shane Bindle, Sir," the soldier answered.

"Well, Private Bindle, you've just been selected as witness to make sure Sergeant Beregond does his task properly. Sergeant Beregond, you may begin at your leisure."

Beregond nodded his acknowledgement. He straightened his shoulders… and turned around to fetch a bucket of water and a large sack like the one the military always used in bunkers in times of war. Pulling the cord that kept the sack closed, he emptied all the sand in the hole and then added the water. In less than fifteen minutes he was done and his work was seamless. There was nothing that betrayed were the crack was.

Moser whistled, clearly impressed. "I'll say it. I don't care what Fawcette thinks; you're too clever to be just a sergeant."

Beregond smiled broadly. It was true that he didn't like to think of himself as a person who took delight in the pain of others, yet that didn't stop him from feeling pleased with himself when he thought of Fawcette frothing from his mouth upon realising that he got outwitted by the ape yet again. And he was overjoyed when Major Moser gave him permission to could keep the sword as his.

But when Beregond walked home later that evening, the sword buckled at his side, he couldn't help but also feel concerned.

Beregond had thought he had been safe from Fawcette's scrutiny, but he now realised that it wasn't so. It didn't matter that Fawcette didn't have Edward and Alphonse's intelligence or deduction ability – or even Beregond's trust to be confided in. He insisted on digging matters and apparently he would keep looking until he found anything that would be considered suspicious.

Beregond sighed. Yes, there were several people already who knew his story and they accepted him nevertheless. That didn't mean that that was a policy that would be followed by the rest of the military as well. He was aware that the only reason his presence in the army was tolerated even without any records of historical background was his exemplary conduct. Things could still change in the blink of an eye.

_I suppose I will have to worry about that when the time comes,_ he thought. Right now he should focus on his current studies and find further connections between Middle-earth and Amestris. That meant finding Mustang first thing in the morning so as to talk to him.

He only hoped that the Colonel would be able to help him, otherwise he would probably reach a dead end.

TBC...


	6. Arrival In Central

The train station in Central was the largest one in the country of Amestris. It had to be, since it served as the terminal station for all train itineraries. Thousands of people left or arrived there on daily basis, making the place also one of the busiest and fullest of life.

A certain Gondorian soldier wouldn't have liked the place one bit. However, three other people knew their way around quite well.

"Hurry up, Al!" cried Ed, hastily making his way through the crowd that was de-boarding from the train they had got from Resembool.

"Brother, we don't have to hurry up that much!" cried the suit of armour amid his "Excuse me" and "Pardon me" that he kept uttering whenever he had to nudge anyone out of the way in his attempt to keep up with Ed.

"Yes, libraries can't run away," said Armstrong. He hardly paid any attention to the people that sensibly moved out of his path.

"Just hurry up!" Ed said. When he finally stopped with his suitcase still in his hands, he looked around the station and he couldn't help but grin broadly.

"We're finally here!"

Had he arrived at the promised land, Ed wouldn't have been more excited. Now he just wanted to find the library - and Dr. Marcoh's notes – as soon as possible.

Which was why he was mildly surprised when two soldiers, a man and a woman, approached Armstrong and saluted.

"Major Armstrong, we're here to see to you," said the woman and pushed her short black bang away from her eyes.

"Good work, 2nd Lieutenant Ross," said Armstrong, smiling. "You and Sergeant Bloch arrived just in time."

The blond soldier – Sergeant Bloch – smiled as well and then looked towards Al. His admiration was quite visible in his eyes.

"You must be the Fullmetal Alchemist, yes?" he asked. "I'm impressed. Your outfit really matches your name!"

Lieutenant Ross nodded her agreement to her subordinate's words and extended her hand. "I'm Maria Ross. It's an honour to meet you."

Neither of them noticed a rather ticked off Ed rolling his eyes, so Armstrong and Al decided that this misunderstanding should be cleared at once. They both pointed at the young alchemist, clearly saying in this way: _You should be talking to him._

Ross blinked, not really understanding.

And it was Sergeant Bloch that made the biggest mistake of all.

"The small guy?!" he asked incredulously.

That did it. Bloch was thankful that Armstrong was quick and strong enough to hold a very angry Edward from his collar _before_ the young alchemist had gotten a chance to attack.

"We… we're very sorry!" said Ross nervously, trying to calm Ed.

"I didn't mean small! I mean… err…" Bloch stuttered, sweating in his fear. He immediately closed his mouth, quite aware that right now he was probably only making things worse.

Ed still scowled at their direction; nevertheless he seemed appeased enough so that Armstrong ventured letting him go.

After all, it wouldn't help matters if he had to keep holding Edward down at all times. As he said, he was in a hurry to report to Central Headquarters.

Ed's feelings of wrath vanished in a flash.

"What was that? Is this where we part?!" he exclaimed, feigning shock and surprise - and failing miserably. "Good job! I'm so sad! Bye-bye!"

"I am so sad as well! It was a fun journey!" declared Armstrong, clearly touched by the parting. With tears streaming down his face, he grabbed Ed in a tight bear-hug. "I hope we shall meet again!" he added.

He didn't seem to notice that Ed was trying to struggle himself free from that grip of death. He finally dropped the boy - rather discourteously, but not malevolently – and he turned to Ross and Bloch. "Take care of the rest," he said.

"Yes, sir!" both soldiers said at once, saluting.

"What?" Ed said, downcast. "I still have to have escorts?"

"Of course!" answered Armstrong, as though stating the most obvious thing in the world. They all started walking towards two military cars that were parked outside the station.

"According to East Headquarters' report, Scar has yet to be apprehended and, until the situation settles down, we shall act as your escorts," Ross explained.

"While we aren't as capable as the major, we have confidence in our abilities, so please be relieved," said Bloch, smiling once again.

"But, Major," said Ed, turning to Armstrong, "that means that Beregond is also in danger. Scar has seen him perform alchemy!"

"Don't be alarmed, young Elric. Sergeant Beregond isn't a State Alchemist, so he has nothing to fear. Besides, before leaving, I was told that the sergeant would be taken off the case so he and Scar wouldn't cross paths again."

While Armstrong and Ed were still talking, Ross leant close to Bloch. "That's odd. Did you ever hear of a _sergeant_ in the army who's into alchemy?" she whispered.

Bloch shook his head. "And what kind of a name is _Beregond?_" he whispered back.

Their conversation reached Ed's ears, but Ed didn't give much thought to it. He simply nodded at Armstrong's words, in spite of the fact that he didn't feel quite comforted. "Right. Thanks, Major," he said and saluted.

Armstrong saluted also and got into the first car. In a matter of moments, he was off. The brothers with their escorts got into the second car and Ross knocked on the glass, signing in this way to the driver to set off also.

Ed sat without much of a fuss, but that didn't stop him from glaring at Ross and Bloch. He felt quite dismayed at having them around and wished that Beregond was in the car instead. It meant that Ed and Al would have been with an escort they knew and trusted, even someone who could offer his scientific opinion concerning Marcoh's notes; the Gondorian understood alchemy, after all.

More importantly, Ed wanted Beregond to be there when he and Al found the answer behind the philosopher's stone. Ed wanted to share the discovery with him. Because when they would unveil the secret of the philosopher's stone, they wouldn't just be one step closer to restoring his and Al's body. They would be a step closer to help the Gondorian return to his home too.

"Brother, you're supposed to say 'thank you', not sulk," Al said, clearly seeing through Ed's reluctance to accept Ross and Bloch.

Ross and Bloch's eyes widened as they heard Al's words.

"Brother?!" echoed the sergeant.

"This armoured man is supposed to be your younger brother?" Ross asked Edward.

"Yes," Al answered for Ed.

"But… why are you wearing a suit of armour?" Bloch asked in a puzzled tone.

The brothers exchanged looks of embarrassment. After a few brief moments of awkward silence, they both answered the first thing that came to mind.

"It's a hobby."

And that's all they said.

Bloch immediately nudged Ross and leant towards her confidentially. Ed figured that they were whispering between themselves again, so he just turned his gaze out the car window in a bored manner. It was when he caught sight of a particular building that he jumped up from his seat and pointed outside the car window.

"Al, I can see it! I can see it!" he cried out enthusiastically.

Ross and Bloch looked outside.

"Oh, that's the State Central Library," Ross said. "It boasts the greatest collection of books within the nation."

"That's where we want to go!" said Ed. He turned to the sergeant. "Tell the driver to pull over!"

Bloch complied at once and hit the window.

"I understand your exuberance," Ross said politely. "There are so many books to the point where it's said that, even if you repeat your life a hundred times, it wouldn't be enough to finish reading all of them."

"Well, right now we're interested in a particular section; the 1st branch," Ed said.

At this, Ross and Bloch exchanged an awkward glance. Ed knew from experience that _that_ wasn't good news.

"Is something wrong?" asked Al.

Neither of the soldiers answered at once. The moment that the car stopped, they stepped out and beckoned Edward and Alphonse to follow them.

"The 1st branch you're looking for lies to the west of the State Library. Most of the research files, past records and name registries were stored there, but…" she pointed ahead to a sight that made the brothers stop on their tracks.

The building was utterly destroyed. The only things that remained were blackened foundations and half-burned beams.

"How…?" Ed tried to ask, yet the words seemed to be stuck in his throat.

"We're not sure," Bloch answered. "All we can say for certain is that a fire did this."

----------------------------

Roy was engaged in conversation with Hawkeye and Havoc concerning Scar, when the voice of someone calling him made him turn around. He was certainly surprised to see who it was.

"Sergeant Beregond," he said, nodding at the Gondorian's salute. "What brings you here?" He couldn't help but notice that Beregond seemed troubled – and was that a sword buckled on his side?

"Actually, Sir… you," Beregond said earnestly. "I wish to speak with you."

Roy raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Oh? What about?" He hoped that this was important. He didn't want to be distracted by mere trivialities.

"It concerns Ishbal, Sir."

At the sound of that name, Roy felt his heart missing a beat. However, he didn't allow himself to show any emotions when he turned to Hawkeye and Havoc.

"Go ahead. I'll catch up with you later on."

The lieutenants hesitated to leave at first, but Roy made them understand that everything was perfectly fine. As soon as Hawkeye and Havoc were gone, Roy faced Beregond.

"Follow me to my office, Sergeant," he said coolly.

Beregond nodded his compliance. "My apologies for the inconvenience, Sir," he said softly as they both still walked on.

Roy appreciated the apology; he certainly preferred it to being barked at by a higher-rank or getting scowled at by Fullmetal. So, he decided it was only courtesy to wave his hand dismissively, thus showing that there was nothing to apologise for. He opened the door to his office and the two men entered. After he made sure there weren't any unfriendly ears nearby and then closed the door, Roy signalled to the Gondorian to sit down. He himself rested his form against his desk, crossing his arms and regarding Beregond closely.

"So, Sergeant," he finally said, "What do you want to know about Ishbal?"

Roy noticed that Beregond didn't flinch at the unwavering gaze. On the contrary, he was quite calm.

"It's probably a long shot, Sir; but you're the only one I can turn to at present." There was a small pause and then Beregond took a deep breath, obviously readying himself for the deep plunge. "Did you fight long in Ishbal?"

At that question, Roy was aware that he had every right to dismiss the sergeant and forbid him to ask him such matters again. Nevertheless, a little powerful thing called curiosity made Roy decide to humour the man. "A year."

Beregond must have noticed Roy's willingness to answer his questions, because he became bolder now. "Did you interact with any Ishbalans?"

_You mean besides incinerating them in sight?_ Roy thought grimly before replying: "As much as one can interact with the enemy in times of warfare."

"How much did you learn about them?"

Now this was getting tiresome.

"Sergeant, I hope there is a reason behind these questions."

"There is," Beregond said. "From what I came to understand, though the war broke out when somebody from the Amestrian military shot a child by accident, there were frequent conflicts between the two countries anyway due to different religious notions."

"You understand correctly," Roy answered. "What I want to understand now is: What do _you_ wish to know?"

Beregond locked his gaze on Roy steadfastly. "It has come to my attention that the Ishbalans believe in an absolute god of creation, but the details of their religion elude me. Is there a chance you can tell me about them yourself or direct me to someone or somewhere to gain that information?"

Roy frowned at this. "An odd request, I must admit."

"Still, I wouldn't have asked it of you if I didn't think it was important."

"Sergeant, you do realise that an alchemist can't afford to believe in gods, I trust?" Roy asked. "It's his pursuit to understand the fundamentals of creation of everything in the world and pursue the truth behind it. If anything, the best thing that could be described as the unattainable and, therefore, revered, is the 'true knowledge' of alchemy. The closer one is to that knowledge, the closer he's to God – and he becomes one himself."

"I'm pursuing the truth behind the Creation too, Sir. But on my path I have to keep in mind that some things depend on faith."

_Is that so?_ Roy couldn't help but feel intrigued now. "And what path is that, Sergeant?"

Even though Mustang expected otherwise, the Gondorian didn't hesitate in his answer al all.

"Mythology."

Roy had to admit that that was the greatest surprise he had got yet. "Mythology?" he echoed before he could help it.

Beregond nodded. "Sir, I have reasons to believe that there are more connections between Amestris and Middle-earth than just the gates whence I came. And I also have reasons to believe that I should look into that direction if I'm to find any answers about those connections."

"That doesn't explain why you wish to learn about the Ishbalan theological beliefs," Roy noted.

"Because that is how I will confirm the first connection," Beregond said, seeming dead-serious now. "I need to know whether the force that _I_ acknowledge as Ilúvatar is the same as the force that the Ishbalans identify as 'absolute one god of creation' – or the same as 'true knowledge', for that matter."

Roy didn't speak for several moments, letting the words sink in. "Even if it is the same, what purpose will that knowledge serve?" he asked in the end. Roy tried to sound nonchalant about it, but Beregond had gained his undivided attention.

"If all three are the one and the same, it will provide some evidence to some of the similarities between this world and Middle-earth. How the air and water are in both worlds the main sources of life; why most of the animals are identical; how humans in both worlds share the same traits; even why the cycles of the sun and the moon have the same length of time."

Roy instantly caught on. "What you are saying is that, if the same force is behind the creation of both worlds, it means that it followed a similar pattern in creating them."

"Well…" Beregond answered, "Yes."

There was silence for a while as Roy thought about what Beregond just told him. "That's an interesting theory. Far-fetched, by all means, but interesting nevertheless," he mused. "So, once you confirm _that_, you think you'll be able to find even more similarities between the two worlds?"

"If there are any."

Roy nodded, deciding that that was good enough answer. He sat behind his desk and knitted his fingers together. "All right. I'll tell you everything I know."

-----------------------

Ed waited with bated breath for the dark-skinned, round-faced librarian to give him an answer as she still looked on the large book in front of her. He dearly hoped that she would be able to give him some good news.

"Tim Marcoh… Research files on the Philosopher's Stone…" she kept on. There was silence for several moments until she finally shook her head. "It's just as I thought. It's not in the catalogue. Any new books that entered the main branch or the other branches would definitely be checked and logged in here. Since they aren't, it means that the files were never here or that, even if they were, they were destroyed during the fire the other day."

Precisely what Ed didn't want to hear. He fell on his knees with his head bowed, whimpering softly. They were so close and _this_ had to happen!

"Erm… hello?" the librarian asked, standing up so she could see Ed.

But Edward just didn't pay any attention to her anymore. He just felt Al's hands clasped on his shoulders, prodding him to stand up and guiding him to the exit.

"Thank you for helping us," the suit of armour said, his voice saddened. It was clear that Al hadn't liked this news either.

"Are you all right?" the librarian asked in a concerned tone.

"No, we're not all right," Ed mumbled, continuing on his way to the exit.

It was then that he heard something hopeful.

"Oh, yeah! Scieszka might know!" said another librarian all of a sudden. "Wasn't she at the 1st branch?"

"That's right!" the dark-skinned librarian said. Ed and Al turned around to look at her questioningly. "If you check Scieszka's house, you'll be able to find out what you're looking for quickly enough."

Ed cocked his head in a puzzled manner. "Is she somebody who knows about the books from that branch?"

The librarian just smiled enigmatically. "She knows a lot. She's a bookworm to the letter."

---------------------

In less than a half-hour, the Elric Brothers and their escorts arrived at the address that the librarian had given them. Sergeant Bloch knocked on the door.

There was no answer. Nor there was one when Bloch knocked again.

"Is she not in?" Bloch said wonderingly.

Ed looked up at the windows. "The lights are on, so I think she's here." At the third time that Bloch knocked and no answer came, Ed finally came to a decision. "Is the door unlocked?"

Al shook his head in disapproval, understanding what Ed had in mind. "Brother, it won't be polite to walk in like that."

"We knocked, didn't we?" Ed reasoned. He pushed the door. "Excuse us…" he called. But the sight before him made him stop on his tracks and cut him mid-sentence.

"What the hell are these piles of books?!"

To say that the house was filled with piles of books would be quite the understatement. In fact, the house had nothing but books in it, all stacked in groups on top of the other in columns so high that they even reached the top of one's head, forming in this way a maze.

Bloch peeked in and it seemed like his jaw would drop at the sight of the interior. "Does someone really live here?!" he exclaimed incredulously.

"Apparently," Ross said with a shrug. She started making her way through the small aisles that were formed among the books. "Ms Scieszka! Are you here?" she called.

At this, everyone else followed her example and started calling out too.

Al was the last of the group, looking around at all the books that surrounded him. Of the four, he was the only one tall enough to actually see beyond the piles.

"I can't believe anyone can live in an environment like this," he mused. He and Ed had been raised around books too; their father had left them behind after walking out on them. It was certainly nothing like this though.

It was then that he heard it. A tiny, muffled voice as though from afar. Al froze and tried to listen.

"Somebody…"

"Al, what is it?" Ed asked when he noticed that his brother had stopped following. He looked at the direction Al did - and heard it too.

"Help me…"

"A person!" Al cried at the point of freaking out, pointing at a dishevelled huge pile of books.

"A person's buried here?!" Ross said, eyes widening.

"Just dig!" was all that Ed said, already grabbing and throwing aside several books that had formed the pile.

Everyone else started digging also, grabbing as many books as they could. Finally, a young woman with brown hair and thick glasses, no more than twenty-years-old, was revealed from underneath.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention when a pile of books came tumbling down and I really thought I was going to die!" she said in one breath, straightening her glasses. She brought herself on her knees and looked at her rescuers with gratitude. "Thank you!"

Ross, Bloch and the Elric Brothers just glared at her. They had found themselves half-buried in books in their attempt to get her out.

"You're welcome," Ed grumbled, a book resting on the top of his head and messing his braid.

----------------------

"Yes, I'm Scieszka," said the young woman, once they all got into the safety of a room that hadn't been swarmed with books just yet. "I love books and I was very happy to be employed by the State Library. But, because I love books so much, I forgot that I was supposed to be working and read books instead. So I got fired." Her shoulders slumped forward in a defeated manner. "I have to work because I want to put my sick mother in a better hospital, but I'm clumsy at doing anything other than read books and I can't get work anywhere." Her voice started hitching as she tried to control her sobs. "Yes, I'm a useless human being! The garbage of society!" All attempts of self-control got thrown into the wind and she started crying loudly.

Ed blinked, feeling a drop of sweat settling on his brow in embarrassment. He looked momentarily at Al, his questioning expression quite vivid in his face.

_Is this lady okay?_

Al shrugged, so Ed decided that he just had to go ahead and ask what he had in mind.

"Uh… There's something I've been meaning to ask you. Do you know anything about the research files written by a certain Dr. Marcoh?"

As the question snapped her out of it, Scieszka straightened her glasses in a thoughtful manner. She was clearly trying to recall the name.

"Marcoh… Dr. Marcoh…" Suddenly, her face brightened. "Oh, yes, I remember! I remember those pretty well, since they were one of the rare ones that were handwritten among the printed books. They were shoved into a bookshelf out of their genre!"

Ed felt his heart leaping excitedly. "They really _were_ at the branch!" he said. However, at the next instant, he bowed his head mournfully. "Which means they were completely burned..." He clasped Al's arm and started walking out. "It's start-from-scratch time again, Al."

Alphonse nodded, following his brother obediently. "Sorry for wasting your time," he said to Scieszka.

The girl looked at them quizzically. "Did you want to read those files?"

"Yes, but now there's no way we can," Ed answered glumly.

"But I remember all that was written in them."

The brothers stopped dead on their tracks. Did she just say…?

"What?!" they both cried out, staring at her in disbelief.

Scieszka smiled. "I remember everything written in a book after reading it once; word for word, without a single mistake. It will take some time, of course, but do you want me to make a copy of the files you want?"

Ed instantly grabbed Scieszka's hand, tears of joy running down his face. "Thank you, Ms Bookworm!" he said happily.

"You're welcome… I guess…" the girl said embarrassedly.

------------------

"Well, Sergeant?" Roy asked. "Will this information be enough? You haven't said a word while I was talking."

"More than enough, Sir," Beregond answered reassuringly. "I just didn't think it appropriate to interrupt you."

Roy allowed a small smile on his lips. "And what is your conclusion after all I've told you?" he asked again.

Beregond didn't answer at once. He just tapped briefly his fingers on the arm of the chair. "Do you wish me to speak openly, Sir?"

"Always."

Beregond nodded. He locked his gaze on Roy.

"Ilúvatar and the Ishbalan god are identical in the powers and image attributed to them."

Roy tried to keep a cool exterior, but he was certainly surprised. "So your theory seems to be correct."

"Yes."

There was something in that tone that puzzled Roy.

"Is there something wrong, Sergeant? I thought you'd be pleased."

Beregond was quite nervous now; Roy could definitely tell by the way the Gondorian's fingers were twitching. "I thought I'd be too, Sir. I'm not so sure anymore."

Roy frowned, not really understanding.

"Sir, you said that the name of the Ishbalan's god is Ishbala; that it derives from their word for "one" and the word for "god", "power". _Ish_ and _Bala_. Do I have it right?"

"Indeed, I said that," Roy answered.

"And _Ishbalan_, consequently, means "of the one god"."

"Yes." _Where are you getting with this, Beregond?_

Beregond didn't say anything at first, but then he leant close as though someone else besides the Colonel would hear what he would say next.

"_Ash nazg durbatulûk._"

At that, Roy could only stare dumbly. "What?"

"That is what was written on a Ring back at my homeland. _Ash_ means 'one'. _One ring to rule them all_," Beregond said quietly.

"Oh?" Though Roy had to admit that this was unexpected, he shook his head. "It's probably a coincidence."

But Beregond was far from finished. "_Bala_, in the primitive form of Sindarin, my tongue, means 'god'. And from that derives the Sindarin word _Balan_, which also means 'god'. Balan is the equivalent of the Quenyan term I use for 'god' – _Vala_… and _Valar_ in plural. They're the powers of the world that Ilúvatar created out of his thought."

Roy felt his eyes widening as he realised what the Gondorian was telling him. "You mean… The gods in which you believe."

Beregond nodded again.

Roy wasn't the type of person to be shocked easily, but this time he was quite taken aback. "What's the meaning of this?" he asked before he could help himself.

"For the present?" Beregond said. "That the Ishbalan tongue appears to be a mix of Black Speech and Sindarin."

"Black Speech?"

"The language of the Enemy I told you before, devised in mockery of Sindarin."

"I see…" Roy said. "So there is indication that your world and ours are indeed connected in more ways than just the gate."

"Yes… But the explanation for this still eludes me."

"Sergeant, you did say that if the same force is behind the creation of both worlds, then there's a similar pattern in both of them," Roy reasoned.

"Very true," Beregond noted thoughtfully. "Nevertheless, I can't help feeling that there's also something else. I'm not sure what, but I think it's still within those mythology books."

"Then perhaps you should look into it, if only to satisfy your curiosity," Roy said.

"I know, but…" A sigh escaped Beregond's lips. "I have a bad feeling about it."

Roy regarded Beregond with some slight concern. "If you want to stop searching, I won't object to your decision."

But the Gondorian shook his head at once. "If there's indeed an answer, I'll be damned if I choose not to look for it."

Now Roy was quite impressed. _If I had any doubts that you used to be a soldier, I have none now. You're terrified as to what you might face, but you're willing to stare it in the eye._

"Then look for it." He motioned his hand tiredly to the door. "You may go."

Beregond arose and saluted; then walked out, leaving a very troubled Roy to think over the conversation they had. Could it be that Beregond had found a way of unlocking the mystery behind this world's creation? If he had, then it would be the biggest breakthrough in alchemy the world had yet to see.

_Well, whatever comes out of this, Mr. Beregond, you've still proven that you have quite the brilliant mind._

Feeling his feelings of shock ebbing away, he now allowed himself a smirk. It was funny how things sometimes turned out. He had first helped the Gondorian because he wanted to make Connors and Fawcette look bad, thus getting himself in a more favourable position with the higher-ranking officers. But now it seemed that Beregond was making himself an even more valuable asset, almost as valuable as the other officers under his command – and, of course, Fullmetal. With a team like that, he couldn't do wrong. Promotions were a certainty.

He supposed that's what he always did; turning misfortune into gain. He had taken Fullmetal and Alphonse under his protection when, upon arriving in Resembool to find their father, stumbled upon the brothers – the day after their failed human transmutation, in fact – and showed them a way out of their predicament. After all, being in the military meant having access to files not meant for the public and even a steady income.

That's what he did in Beregond's case too. He turned misfortune into gain. And Roy was glad with the results.

_You will prove very useful in the Science department when I become Führer, Mr. Beregond – if Fullmetal doesn't accept, that is._ He knew that Ed meant to stay in the military only until he found a way to restore his and his brother's bodies. Could anyone really blame the boy? The army was rotten from the inside and no one was doing anything about it.

Of course, Roy intended never to reveal such thoughts. He didn't need Riza or Havoc to warn him from saying anything inappropriate. Care and patience were the keys if he wanted the world to become a better place to live under his authority; if he wanted not to allow thoughtless wars or massacres or… meaningless orders.

_Damn you, Grand. You enjoyed it when you ordered me to kill those doctors, didn't you?_

Well, Roy wouldn't allow such a thing again. He would make sure of that.

TBC…

_A/n: And the plot thickens further. __I kind of made up the meaning of Ishbala's name, but the stuff concerning the word Bala stand._


	7. A Bad Morning

That particular morning, Beregond opened his eyes with great difficulty. He didn't feel rested at all and for a good reason. After conversing with the Colonel, he had gone and spent his entire day at the library, studying. He would have probably stayed there even all night if it were up to him, but state libraries closed at eleven o'clock.

That didn't mean Beregond was willing to abandon his studying this time round. He was on the last two hundred pages of Syndow's _Introduction on Mythology_ and he wanted to be done with it, because then he could start on the books he was interested in most - the myths themselves. So, he borrowed the book and went straight to his home. Once there, he kept reading it until he finally reached the last page.

That was around four o' clock in the morning.

What time was it now?

He turned on his side to look at the window. Pale sunbeams were bathing the room. It was clear that the sun had just started its journey.

_Time to get up_, Beregond thought wearily. And with that, he pushed himself off the couch with a sigh.

He was putting on his uniform amid a series of tired yawns, when the sound of a knock on the door startled him. Unsure what to make of it, Beregond buckled the sword on his side and rested a hand on it. As soon as there was a second knock, he opened the door.

The sight made his heart miss a beat.

---------------------------

When Havoc arrived at Headquarters in the morning, Hawkeye, Falman and Fuery were already in the main office. However, he was taken aback to see that they all seemed upset and angry for some reason. Looking at them curiously, he took the cigarette out of his mouth.

"What happened?" he asked.

"In the mood I'm in now, I would have shot you for not being here nine o' clock sharp," Hawkeye stated in a matter-of-fact tone. She pointed at the great clock on the wall to show Havoc that he was, indeed, five minutes late. "But someone is already more delayed than you and, second, you can consider yourself lucky that you missed the show."

"What show?" Havoc was completely lost now.

"Fawcette was here," Falman said.

_Oh, that explains it,_ Havoc thought with a sigh. "Let me guess. This has something to do with Beregond?"

It was Fuery who answered this time. "Fawcette was looking for him. Apparently something happened at the training grounds two days ago that didn't please him."

"And…?" Havoc asked.

"And Beregond is not here. That made Fawcette start yelling that we were covering him," Hawkeye said.

_What?!_ But there was also something else that bothered Havoc. "So why isn't Beregond here yet?"

"We don't know," Riza answered again. "We were actually hoping you would have an idea or two. He seems to talk to you the most since Edward and Alphonse left."

"The last time I saw him I was with you; it was when he wanted to talk to the Colonel," Havoc said with a shake of his head. "The only possibility I can think of is that he's gone to the library, his usual haunt. But he always checks in here first before going there."

"That's true," Falman said thoughtfully.

Fuery looked at his companions with worry.

"Do you think something… _bad_ has happened to him?" he asked.

There was silence for many long moments, until Havoc broke it again.

"There is only one way to find out." In a matter of moments, he had grabbed his coat and was out again. Such was his hurry that he almost bumped onto Colonel Mustang and Breda.

Havoc instantly saluted, but Roy waved his hand dismissively.

"No time for that, Havoc. Breda has just informed me that there's been a commotion in the office because of Sergeant Beregond and I want to talk to him. Do you have any idea where he is?"

Havoc shook his head. "I was on my way to his house, actually. He hasn't checked in at all."

Roy nodded his understanding. "I see. Then I'm coming with you."

"Sir?"

"Fawcette is looking for me too. I'm _not_ willing to see him before I get all the facts straight," Roy explained before turning to Breda. "Lieutenant, do as I said. Go to the training grounds and find anyone who was there two days ago and saw what happened. Take them to my office and tell them to wait for me. They're not to talk to anyone else. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," Breda answered.

Roy nodded. "Good." As soon as Breda was gone, he grabbed Havoc. "We need to hurry."

"Yes, Sir," Havoc said, following Roy closely behind. "What do you suppose happened?"

"I don't know," Mustang said. "But the sergeant should better have a good explanation as to why he didn't say anything."

Havoc sighed. He really hoped so too.

----------------------

It didn't take long for Roy and Havoc to arrive at Beregond's house. As soon as the second lieutenant parked, Roy headed for the doorstep and knocked on the door loudly.

There was no answer.

"Damn it," Roy muttered. He knocked on the door again, but nothing happened.

"Sergeant Beregond, open the damn door right now!" Roy cried out angrily.

The only response he got was silence. There was no doubt in Roy's mind now; something was _very_ wrong. He put on his gloves and kicked the door open. Turning to Havoc, he motioned with his head at the direction of the entrance. "Go."

Nodding his compliance, Havoc totted his gun and walked cautiously inside. He scanned the room thoroughly, until he finally deemed that the place was safe for now.

"Clear."

Roy walked in as well, his fingers in snapping position. Standing at the centre of the room, the two men exchanged only one glance, but it was agreement enough. Havoc walked towards the kitchen, whereas Roy went to the bedrooms.

Roy searched in Alphonse and Edward's rooms and found nothing. They were in fact quite tidy and taken care of while the brothers were away. The one thing that indicated the recent presence of someone in the house was the dent on the couch, where a heavy body had been resting there.

"Nothing here!" He called at Havoc. "How about there?"

"No, Sir!" sounded Havoc's voice from the kitchen.

Roy hurried into the kitchen, meeting a very troubled-looking Havoc.

"What's going on?" Roy wondered, running his hand through his hair in his frustration. "There are no signs of struggle or forced entry; so where the hell _is_ he?"

Suddenly, the faint sound of a door creaking open reached Roy's ears and he stiffened warily. His eyes locked momentarily on Havoc.

Havoc nodded slightly. He had heard it too. Without a moment's hesitation, he aimed his gun at the door, whereas Roy readied his fingers again.

"Mr. Beregond?"

Havoc's eyes widened at this, something that caught Roy by surprise. But before he could signal for an explanation, the woman who called came in the kitchen. She didn't expect to see the two men, that was for certain. Nevertheless, her eyes shone in recognition.

"Mr. Havoc," Sarah said softly. "I never thought I'd see you here."

"That makes two of us, Mrs. Abbot," Havoc answered. Remembering himself, he motioned his hand at Roy's direction. "This is Colonel Mustang. Colonel, this is Sarah Abbot, an acquaintance of Beregond's. She works at the State East Library."

Both Roy and Sarah nodded their greeting. "It would appear that we're looking for the same person," Roy noted.

"You mean Mr. Beregond isn't here?" Sarah asked. Her tone of worry was evident in her voice.

Havoc blinked, not really understanding what the meaning of this was; so Roy decided to take matters in his own hands. "I'm afraid not. The place was empty when we arrived."

Sarah covered her mouth as she gasped involuntarily.

"Mrs. Abbot, what is it?" Havoc asked in a worried manner.

When Sarah answered, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Alice, my daughter, has been missing for the last two hours or so. I tried to look everywhere for her, until I came here. I was hoping that that's where she ran off."

"Ran off?" Havoc echoed.

Sarah looked at Havoc and then at Roy, clearly agitated now. "Yesterday I received a notification from the State Library in Central. I am to be transferred there in two days' time, because a fire destroyed one of its branches and extra personnel is needed to re-organize anything worth salvageable." She sighed sadly. "Alice didn't like that. She kept saying that she didn't want to leave, which resulted to a big argument between us last night. When I woke up this morning, she wasn't in her bed and the front door was open."

"So you believe she's come here," Roy said.

Sarah nodded. "I've already asked everywhere else and I know she's quite attached to Mr. Beregond. But… if Mr. Beregond isn't here…" She never finished her sentence. A violent sob escaped her lips, forcing her to stop.

Roy noticed that Havoc was watching Sarah with a very sad look in his eyes. It was understandable, really. The girl had gone missing and the mother was almost at her wits' end.

It was then that an idea struck his mind. _Could it be that…?_

Well, it was worth the shot, wasn't it?

"Mrs. Abbot, I think I know where your daughter is."

------------------------

"At the library?" Sarah said, eyes widening in disbelief. She was now sitting on the back seat of the military car. "But, Mr. Mustang, when I went there before, I didn't find her."

"When was that?" Roy asked from the co-driver's seat.

"Half an hour after I realised she was gone. The library was one of the first places I went to search for her."

"I think we're going to be in better luck this time."

Still driving, Havoc looked at the Colonel thoughtfully. "Sir, perhaps I should let you both at the library. I can go and look for Beregond instead," he suggested.

"No need, Havoc," Roy said, smiling. "If I have come to learn something about Sergeant Beregond, it means that we'll find him in the library also."

Havoc frowned at this, not catching on at first; but then he smiled. "They're together."

"Well, this theory explains why the sergeant failed to show up for work. It had to be something quite serious, at least to him. And if your daughter managed to find him, Mrs. Abbot, it would only be logical that Beregond would want to return her to you."

"She's just seven and our house quite far from these parts," Sarah said, shaking her head. "I don't see how she could have done it. I just went at Mr. Beregond's place in my despair."

"It's amazing what children can do when despair leads them," Roy said enigmatically.

That earned him a curious look from Havoc. But whether the 2nd lieutenant was guessing about whom Roy was talking about, it was of little concern to Roy. What he said was still true.

----------------

The moment that the three stepped into the library, Sarah hurried to the registration desk to ask one of her colleagues for any news of her daughter.

Her friend proved quicker.

"Ah! There you are, Sarah!" she said. "Alice is here, waiting for you!"

"Where?" Sarah exclaimed, eyes widening.

The other librarian replied by just pointing into a chair nearby. The blond little girl was really there, sniffing and wiping tears away from her eyes. At the next instant, Sarah had hugged her daughter tightly, raining her with kisses amid tears of relief.

"I'm sorry, mum," Alice said. She still sobbed, seeming unable to stop.

"And very well you should be," Sarah replied in a scolding tone. "Do you have any idea how worried you made me?"

As Roy and Havoc watched the reunion from a small distance, they couldn't help but smile. It seemed that everything had a good end.

However, Alice didn't stop crying. And what was worse, the soldiers noticed that there was no sign of Beregond anywhere. Roy exchanged a glance with Havoc, the same question entering both their minds.

_Where is he?_

"Mr. Havoc!" Alice cried suddenly, noticing the lieutenant for the first time. Leaving her mother's embrace, he rushed to the man and looked at him with tear-filled eyes. "Please, sir… Is Beregond in trouble?"

Havoc frowned at this. He looked at Roy, unsure what he should do. When Roy nodded and gave him the go, the lieutenant asked: "Why would you ask that, Alice?"

Alice fidgeted her fingers nervously. "Because some people were mad at him and it's my fault."

Havoc eyed Alice curiously. "What people?"

"People in uniform, like Beregond and you," Alice said. "I remember a man with a long pointy nose, but there were others as well. They were very angry with Beregond and they didn't let him stay with me while we waited for mum."

Havoc quickly looked at Roy. "It must have been Fawcette."

"Yes," Roy said. He sat on his heels to face the girl. "Alice, do you know who I am?"

Alice hid herself meekly behind Havoc. "No."

Roy just smiled in a friendly manner and extended a hand. "I'm Colonel Mustang. Lieutenant Havoc and Beregond are working for me."

"Oh! I've heard of you!" she said brightly. She stepped forward again and took Mustang's hand in hers in a handshake.

"Have you now?" Roy said, slightly amused. At the next moment, he sobered again. "So you must also know that it's my job to make sure that the people that work for me are okay and no one hurts them. I'm not going to lie to you; Beregond _is_ in trouble. I can help him but, to do that, you'll have to help me first."

Alice nodded her understanding. "What do I have to do?"

"Nothing difficult, don't worry," Roy said reassuringly. "I need you to tell me exactly what happened."

Alice looked troubled for a few moments. She looked at her mother, who gave her an encouraging smile, and then started telling her story.

-----------------

Alice was quite angry the previous night. All that she could think of that it was unfair that they would have to leave; especially when her friends and everything she knew was here. She tried to make her mother understand but, after that fight they had, she figured that she was considered too young to be taken seriously. So, she needed an adult to speak with her mother. However, all the adults she knew had already talked with her mother and they all said it was a great opportunity for both of them to go to Central.

All the adults except one, that is. _He_ didn't even know about them moving away.

And that was how Alice decided to go find Beregond first thing in the morning. Beregond was her friend, after all. He would understand and try to help out.

She had planned everything carefully while she lay in bed. She knew Beregond always left for work at a quarter past eight. That meant she had to wake up and go to his home much earlier than that. Finding the house wasn't too much of a problem. She had been at the house with her mother a couple of times and she remembered the way quite well.

And so, early the next morning, Alice found herself at Beregond's doorstep. She was slightly dishevelled and she was breathing heavily because of the running she had done. She had almost overslept and she wasn't sure if she would find Beregond on time.

But she was lucky.

Beregond, on the other hand, was quite surprised to see her there.

--------------------------

"_Alice? What are you doing here?" Beregond asked with eyes wide-open in shock._

"_I'm sorry," Alice said, trying to catch her breath. "I had to see you."_

_Beregond looked around and then stared at Alice incredulously. "You came here _alone?_"_

_Alice tried to answer, but her legs gave way under her; the strain they went through was too much for her young body. Thankfully, Beregond grabbed her before she fell to the ground and carried her inside. He placed her on the couch and gave her a glass of water._

"_I got my answer," he said. He helped her drink the clear liquid. "Small sips, Alice."_

_Alice didn't say anything. She merely drank till she had emptied the glass down to the last drop. "Thank you," she finally said gratefully, smiling._

_But Beregond didn't return the smile. "Can you please tell me what happened?"_

_Alice did, trying to be as concise as possible. However, when she told of her decision to come at his house, Beregond frowned deeply. That made the girl more than just nervous, because she had never seen Beregond like that before._

"_What's wrong?" she asked apprehensively._

"_You mean what's_ right _in all this," Beregond said in a low tone._

"_I don't understand," she said again. Tremors washed through her body as she thought Beregond would start shouting at her at that moment._

_Nothing of the sort happened. Beregond sat next to Alice and wrapped a large arm around her shoulders._

"_Alice, I realise you wanted to talk to someone older about this and ask for their help. But the way you handled it couldn't be more wrong. You ran off to the streets when it was practically still darkness; when you should have taken under consideration that it's most unsafe for a girl of your age. Do you have any idea how many dangers you would probably have to face if you were a bit less fortunate?"_

"_I…"_

"_Alice, let me finish," Beregond said firmly, even though its gentle quality wasn't missed on the girl. "I can also understand that your young, eager mind made you forget the dangers that might linger out there. But there is something else that really disappointed me. How could you have forgotten your mother? True, she angered you when she said that you would have to leave. Still, does it make it right that you have her worry with your disappearance? Did you even stop to consider what will happen when she wakes up and sees you gone?"_

_Alice didn't attempt to say anything this time. She merely bowed her head in shame._

"_I suppose not," Beregond concluded with a sigh. _

"_Are you mad at me?" she asked in a murmur._

_Beregond's lips tugged to a weak smile. "More than you can imagine."_

"_So we're not… friends anymore?"_

_A deep chuckle was the answer she got. "I didn't say that." He cupped her chin, prodding her in this way to look at him. "You know what the best thing about friends is? True friends, mind you? They can be mad, scolding or fighting one another at times, but in the end they always forgive each other." _

_Understanding what the man told her, Alice buried herself in his arms with tears flowing down her cheeks. _

"_I just wanted… to ask your help," she said, her voice hitching violently. "I didn't mean…"_

"_I know," Beregond said kindly. He lifted her up in his arms and kissed her cheek. "Why don't we go talk to your mother, okay?"_

_Alice nodded slightly and rested her head on the man's shoulder. "She'll be angry with me, too."_

"_Yes, but she'll forgive you," Beregond said. With Alice still in his arms, he walked out and locked the door behind him. "She loves you, don't forget that." _

"_Then why is she doing this? I don't want to leave." _

"_Yet she's doing this for you. If she goes to the State Library in Central, she'll get better paid so that you can both live in a better house and she can send you to a better school." _

"_What about my friends? What about you and Ed and Al?" Alice insisted._

_Beregond sighed. "It is always sad to say goodbye. But think about it this way: you're not losing your old friends; you're making some new ones instead." While they still walked, Beregond rubbed Alice's back soothingly. "You know, I have a friend in Central who can help you and your mother settle down nicely. He also has a daughter that you'd like to meet." _

"_Really?" _

_Beregond nodded. "Her name is Elysia, she's about four years old. She loves to play all kinds of games, just like you."_

_Alice smiled. "That's nice."_

"_I thought you might like it," Beregond said._

"_So what's your friend's name?"_

"_Maes Hughes. I can give the name to your mother so she can call him up."_

"_Okay."_

"_Good girl."_

----------------------

When Alice and Beregond arrived at the library, her mother was nowhere to be seen. One of the colleagues explained to Beregond that she had gone out in search for Alice - and at that she glared at the little girl. Thankfully, Beregond still held her protectively, and she was glad at his decision to stay with her till her mother showed up again. As Beregond reasoned, Mother would have to return at some point to the office, if only to make phone-calls concerning her missing daughter. While they still waited, Beregond played with her, showing her tricks that he had learned from fellow soldiers from his country.

It was just when she felt perked up again that the men appeared. The one with the long nose seemed so terrible that Alice hid behind Beregond. Her friend, on the other hand, didn't seem afraid at all. He smiled and knelt beside her.

"Alice, I know one last game. I want you to shut your eyes and cover your ears. Don't open them until you have counted up to fifty. All right?"

She complied, trusting him. When she had opened her eyes though, neither Beregond nor the other men were anywhere to be seen.

It was then that Alice understood. The men wanted Beregond and so he went with them. She still remembered the pointy-nosed man's angry face and guilt started sinking within her, because she suspected what was that about.

She had kept Beregond from work. Which meant Beregond would be punished or even lose his job and it would be her fault.

It was at that realisation that she started crying again. She didn't stop but only when Mother, Havoc and Roy appeared.

TBC…


	8. Turmoil

"So you didn't hear what Beregond and the other man said?" Roy asked as soon as Alice finished her account on things.

Alice shook her head with regret.

Sighing in mild frustration, Roy arose in full stature and directed his gaze to Sarah's colleagues. Most of them were by now gathered around because of the commotion.

"Can any of you tell me if they heard anything?"

Everyone murmured uneasily. To Roy, that meant one thing: they were all too busy with their own work to notice anything at that time.

Roy swore mentally at the realisation that things were only getting from bad to worse.

"Excuse me?" a male voice suddenly sounded as though out of the blue.

Both Roy and Havoc turned around to see a young college student with glasses behind them, raising meekly his hand. The student clearly wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure if he should.

"Yes?" Roy said.

"I couldn't help overhearing," the student explained. "I just wanted to let you know that I was reading some books by that desk there and I saw and heard most of the stuff that went on."

Roy jumped at the chance. "And?" he asked keenly.

"Well, after the sergeant guy told the girl to close her eyes, he walked up to the other soldier - a lieutenant colonel, from the looks of it - and saluted him. The other guy didn't appreciate the gesture, because he was pretty steamed and glaring at the sergeant, you know? Moreover, he kept saying something to the likes of that the sergeant should follow him at once. The sergeant tried to explain that they could at least wait for the girl's mother first, but the lieutenant colonel wouldn't have it. In fact, he ordered two men from his escort to handcuff the sergeant and take him away to see a Brigadier General O' Connor or something like that…"

"Connors," Havoc said before he could help it.

"Yeah, that," the college student said with a shrug. "The sergeant didn't put up any fight, so they were gone in moments. That was about twenty minutes ago."

"Are you sure about that?" Roy asked.

"Pretty sure," the student answered.

Roy didn't need to be told twice. "Thank you for your cooperation." He signalled to Havoc that they should leave and got ready to head out.

"Colonel? Mr. Havoc?" Sarah said at that moment.

Both men turned. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

To Roy's intrigue, Havoc _blushed_ and seemed to have some sort of difficulty saying: "You're welcome." But he couldn't afford the luxury to contemplate that. There were other, more pressing matters at hand.

"I wish we could have met under better circumstances," was all that Roy said. And with that, he bowed his head and exited with Havoc close to his heels.

"Sir, what can we do now?" Havoc asked as they approached the car.

"Act quickly," Roy answered. "Fawcette must have already reached Connors, so I'll have to go to their office as soon as we arrive at Headquarters. You retrieve the witnesses Breda hopefully found."

"Yes, Sir," Havoc said, taking out of his pocket the keys to his car. Once both men settled inside the vehicle, Havoc started the engine and drove off.

-------------------

After Roy hurried to Connors' office, Havoc went to see to his own task. He opened the door to Roy's own office, but the only one inside was a man with the rank of major. Havoc immediately saluted.

"Excuse me, Sir? Do you wish to speak to Colonel Mustang?"

"It would seem that the Colonel wished to speak to _me_, but I've been waiting since this morning," the major answered, his tone half-teasing, half-serious. "And the 2nd Lieutenant who brought me here wouldn't say what it was about."

"I'm 2nd Lieutenant Jean Havoc, Sir," Havoc explained at once. "I was asked by Colonel Roy Mustang to escort you to Brigadier General Connors' office. It concerns the integrity of a certain Sergeant Beregond."

The major raised an eyebrow. "_That_ poor devil? So Fawcette decided to go after him about that hole, I see."

Havoc blinked. "Sir?"

The major just waved his hand dismissively. "You'll understand soon enough. It's a pity that Bindle wasn't found, but I hope my testimony alone will suffice. Lead the way, 2nd Lieutenant Havoc."

Havoc complied, relieved to see that the major was willing to help Beregond.

------------------

The first thing that both men noticed when they approached Brigadier General Connors' office was the angry voices that could be heard even through the closed door. They visibly winced.

"This is bad," commented the major.

Havoc couldn't agree more. Trying to keep himself composed, he knocked on the door and entered as soon as Connors barked: "Proceed!"

Havoc entered and saluted, followed close behind by the major. His eyes caught sight of everything in one glance. Connors was standing behind his desk, his arms crossed and his face carrying an expression of frightening coolness. Fawcette seemed close to attacking Mustang physically, whereas the colonel was glaring indignantly at both of them. And the one who truly stood out was Beregond, who was sitting on the couch nearby. The Gondorian's hands were now free and his expression tranquil, albeit a bit sad.

Beregond was also the first to acknowledge their presence. With a faint smile tugged on his lips, he stood up and saluted.

Roy turned around as well, his eyes reflecting a small gleam of relief in his eyes.

"Ah, Lieutenant Havoc. I see you brought the witness," he noted. He motioned his hand toward the couch when the major saluted. "Please, have a seat, major. Can you please state your name and title for the officers?"

"Major Conrad Moser, the Rock Alchemist," Moser answered.

"All right," Roy said. "Major Moser, I'm going to be straightforward. I was told you were at the training grounds two days ago."

"You were told correct, Sir."

"Did you happen to see Sergeant Beregond there?" Roy asked.

"Yes, Sir. Sergeant Beregond asked me for a sword and I showed him to the weapons' room."

Fawcette picked up a sword from Connors' desk. "Is this the sword the sergeant got from that room?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Moser answered. "He transmuted it using the materials from a pile of other, faulty swords."

Fawcette's upper lip curled in distaste. "It's quite the heavy weapon. It can do a great deal of damage, don't you agree?"

Moser nodded, even though he was certainly surprised by such a question. "That's the purpose of this sword, Sir. It's made so that its strokes prove lethal."

"Yet you allowed the Sergeant to wield such a weapon?" Fawcette asked.

"As Sergeant Beregond told me, he was trained on such weapons. I had no reasons not to allow him to use it," Moser explained.

Fawcette was about to say something, but Connors stopped him. "Were you aware of the sergeant's wish for such a weapon?" he asked Roy.

Roy stiffened. "No, I wasn't."

"So he never came to you to ask for permission?"

"As you can see, he asked permission from Major Moser," Roy answered in a steadfast manner.

"Sergeant Beregond is under _your_ jurisdiction though," Connors noted with a smirk. "He's your subordinate and yet you don't know what he's doing?"

"I don't feel I need to, when my men are to be trusted and their actions don't seem harmful to the military's interests," Roy said.

"And having such a dangerous weapon for themselves _isn't_ harmful to the military's interests?" asked Fawcette indignantly.

"Lieutenant Colonel, please control your temper," Connors said. He faced Roy again. "You stand by that answer?"

"Yes."

Connors smiled, though that smile was certainly not friendly. "Then it would interest you to know that some of his actions have been harmful to the military's interests. It has come to my attention that Sergeant Beregond destroyed military property with that weapon of his two days ago," he said before turning to Moser. "I do believe you were present when that happened, Major."

"Indeed I was."

"So it's true?"

Moser hesitated. "Yes, but…"

"A simple yes or no will do, Major," Connors said.

Moser bit his lower lip, because it was clear what Connors was trying to do. He cast a brief glance at Beregond's direction, as if trying to apologise in this way, and then answered: "Yes, sir."

"Major Moser, do you believe it was deliberate?" Roy asked.

"No, sir," Moser answered at once. "In fact, he offered to fix the damage afterwards."

"Did he?"

Moser nodded. "Yes, Sir."

Roy turned to Connors. "Since this is the case, I don't see the reason Sergeant Beregond is being held."

"Surely, you must understand," Connors answered. "The man has proved himself quite dangerous. It might have been an accident, as he claims; but how can we be sure that he won't be involved into another accident with an even worse outcome – say, the damage to a human life?"

"To have any soldier entrusted with a weapon has its risks; nevertheless it's a necessary evil," Roy said. "A soldier needs to protect himself, after all."

"And why should he feel threatened here, among his own fellow soldiers?" Connors asked.

"It's not a question of threat, it's about policy," Roy answered. He motioned his head at Connors' chest, where a gun was strapped.

"I never got it out to use it so recklessly," Connors pointed out, _almost_ sweetly. "I should be more thoughtful about that if I were you. I'd hate to think that he might get you into any trouble because of his… eagerness."

"Let me worry about that when it's necessary," Roy said.

"I think you should worry quite soon," Connors said in an unnerving smile. "There have been several times when Lieutenant Colonel Fawcette had to put up with Sergeant Beregond's impudence…"

"In that case, Lieutenant Colonel Fawcette should be questioned about his loyalties as well; he seems to despise saluting colonels," Roy said.

It was true; Fawcette never saluted Roy.

"And I was also told that his impudence reaches to the point of not obeying a direct order," Connors carried on.

Roy huffed a bit and turned to Beregond. "Did you disobey a direct command from Lieutenant Colonel Fawcette?"

"No, Sir," Beregond answered.

"And what about the command I gave you not to use alchemy to fix the damage you caused at the training grounds?" Fawcette said, glaring at the Gondorian.

"Followed it to a tee," Beregond said evenly. "I lived without Alchemy for forty years; I could make ends meet even in the situation you put me in."

"It's true," Moser seconded. "He just took a sack we use for the bunkers, added water and made a concrete substance strong enough to patch up the hole."

Fawcette turned to Moser with a sneering look in his eyes. "It seems that you weren't willing to listen when I warned you about the sergeant's person. Or is it perhaps some alchemist camaraderie that makes you think the sergeant needs your support?"

There was a long pause.

"You're right, Sir," the major finally answered. "As an alchemist, it's my job to be there for the people - especially those that are treated unfairly."

Fawcette scowled. "I treat everyone as I feel they deserve."

"Which means the problem isn't Sergeant Beregond, Fawcette. It's you," Roy concluded. His eyes seemed as if they were ready to pierce through the lieutenant colonel.

Connors shook his head. "Though Fawcette is in a mood in which he can't express himself clearly, you must admit that he has a point. There are hardly any records that might ensure the military's trust in the sergeant. In fact, as far as I can tell, he's from a different country entirely. His accent, no matter how inconspicuous it has become over these last few months, proves that. How can it be ascertained where his loyalties lie? Friendships can hardly be considered valid within these buildings. You and I both know that quite well, Mustang."

Roy's eyes narrowed. "And you know as well as I do, Brigadier General, that unless there's solid evidence against Sergeant Beregond's person, he's not to be dragged around like a criminal."

"And what about today? Didn't he act as a criminal when he didn't report for duty this morning? He wasn't sick nor did he arrive late; he simply didn't show up at all. In fact, there are witnesses that claim to have seen him carrying around a little girl. Quite a compromising situation, don't you think?"

Roy bit his lower lip, whereas Havoc was ready to utter his objections. Because they both realised that Connors was ready to accuse Beregond of kidnapping Alice.

Thankfully, Roy had one last card to play.

"According to military policy, a civilian's well-being always comes first. It should be noted that the little girl had to be returned safely to her mother's care. You can call the mother herself to confirm my words, as well as the mother's colleagues and every bystander who was in the library at that time." His face became sterner, and placed both hands on Connors' desk. "And it should also be noted that under Lieutenant Colonel Fawcette's command, Sergeant Beregond was forced to abandon the little girl in _unknown_ hands. If anything happens to her, it'll be the _lieutenant colonel_ who will be held responsible for unnecessarily endangering a human life. And if this _charade_ should carry on, I'm sure Sergeant Beregond is willing to place charges against Lieutenant Colonel Fawcette so that he _is_."

"Is that a threat, Colonel Mustang?" Connors said quietly, contempt dripping in his every word.

"A warning," Roy said, hardly fazed.

"Why you--!" Fawcette exclaimed, ready to lunge.

He never got the chance, because it was then that a powerful hand grabbed his arm, stopping him; Beregond's hand.

"I see that your loathing of colonels has worsened, Lieutenant Colonel," Roy said grimly. He turned to Beregond. "Release him, Sergeant; it's quite all right."

Beregond obeyed, even though his eyes remained locked on Fawcette. Havoc, who had also got ready to lunge in order to protect Mustang, relaxed his stance once more and waited.

Roy turned at Connors. "Now, if there isn't anything else, we'll take your leave now." He saluted, more out of courtesy than anything, and turned on his heel to head for the exit.

Havoc and Moser followed Roy, but it seemed that Beregond had one last thing to do. Saluting coolly, he took his sword and buckled it on his side. It was only after he cast a final look toward Connors and Fawcette that he walked out also.

--------------

"Nine months here and you've already got yourself an archenemy," Moser noted as soon as all four soldiers walked out of the brigadier general's office. "Frankly, if I were you, I wouldn't know whether to be flattered or worried, Sergeant." He then saluted Roy and Havoc in farewell and, soon enough, he was gone.

However, Beregond was unusually quiet, something that didn't escape Roy and Havoc's attention. The lieutenant nudged the Gondorian in an attempt to cheer him up.

"Why so glum?" he asked. "Fawcette and Connors can't touch you for now."

Beregond still didn't say anything.

"Are you thinking about Alice?" Havoc ventured again. "She's fine; we left her in Sarah's care."

The Gondorian smiled a bit this time; but it was clear that that reassurance wasn't enough. Something else was on his mind. In the end, Beregond faced Havoc and Roy and then bowed his head.

"Thank you… and I'm sorry."

Havoc was surprised at this, but not Roy. For the colonel crossed his arms and was looking in a stern manner at Beregond.

"You realise that _that_ was a close call that could have been avoided, Sergeant?" he asked.

Beregond nodded.

"And that you could have handled things better? Say, make a phone-call and explained how things stood?" Roy asked again.

Beregond nodded again.

At the next moment, Roy sighed and his expression softened. "Well, it's done now. And I can't say your actions were entirely wrong. I just ask you to be more considerate next time. Is that understood?"

Beregond stood in attention at once. "Yes, Sir."

"Good. That will be all then." And with that, Roy got ready to walk toward his office. However, he stopped on his tracks, as though remembering himself.

"After all that, I doubt you had any time to go and study at the library, isn't that right, Sergeant?"

"Yes, Sir. And I fear it's too late for that now," Beregond answered.

"Perhaps not," Roy said, nodding at Havoc's direction.

Havoc didn't need to be told twice. He simply saluted and prodded Beregond to follow him.

"Where are we going?" the Gondorian asked, not really understanding.

"I'll drive you to the library," Havoc answered.

Beregond instantly turned to face Havoc. "But will you have time to return and do any work here?" he asked in concern. But, apparently, Havoc's expression was enough answer. "You'll stay with me."

Havoc nodded. "It will be a good chance to say goodbye to Alice and Sarah, too; so don't worry, I won't be bored," he said reassuringly. "Oh, by the way, once in the car, lock your gaze on the ceiling and think of something else while I'll be driving. It usually helps."

Beregond stared at Havoc with eyes widened in surprise. "How did you--?"

Havoc chuckled before he could help it. "Let's just say Ed warned me about your… problem."

-------------

"Well, Sir?" Hawkeye asked as soon as Roy walked in the office. Breda, Falman and Fuery pricked up their ears, the same question reflected in their eyes.

Though Roy rubbed the back of his neck in a tired manner, there was a broad smirk brightening his features. "All settled. And if all goes well, we'll be rid of Fawcette one way or another."

"What do you mean, Sir?" Falman asked.

"I have, more or less, pointed out to Connors that, if Fawcette keeps pestering the sergeant, he'll have to face some consequences of his own. Connors won't tolerate the potential of such a threat so he'll call off his dog – maybe even have it transferred."

"That's good news for the sergeant," Breda noted with a smile.

"Indeed. The witness you found was helpful," Roy said.

Surprisingly enough, Breda blinked in confusion. "You mean witness_es_, Sir."

Now it was Roy's turn to blink. "No, I mean witness. There was only a Major Conrad Moser."

Breda frowned. "That's one. What about Private Bindle?"

"Who?"

Breda fidgeted nervously. "Sir, I had found two witnesses. I first came across a Private Shane Bindle, who told me where to find Major Moser. He said that he would find the way to your office and stay there."

"Well, apparently, he wasn't there. Havoc brought only Moser with him," Roy said.

"Interesting," Hawkeye noted, raising an eyebrow. "So where's the private now?"

----------------

Envy opened another chest of drawers, only to see that there was nothing of interest in there. Huffing in dismay, he pushed the drawers shut once again and started looking at another stack of files.

There was nothing in there either. That was making the homunculus quite frustrated, since he was running out of time to find what he wanted. The longer he delayed, the more chances he had of being discovered, either by a passing-by officer or – worse – the sergeant himself.

With that thought in mind, he scanned the Fullmetal shrimp's office again and then decided to look at the other desk nearby. It wasn't the sergeant's office, Envy was certain of that, but he hoped that he could find something useful in there.

When he opened the drawers, he caught sight of several files. There was only one that really drew his attention though. Perhaps it was the sheer volume of the folder, or because it was in a separate position from all the other files; nevertheless, it made Envy curious enough to have a look at it.

His curiosity was rewarded when he found inside the folder a file with the name "Beregond" written in bold lettering. And as Envy checked briefly at its contents, he immediately recognised the scratchy, left-handed handwriting that belonged to a certain vertically-challenged teen alchemist.

It wasn't what he had been looking for, but that certainly made up for his risk at coming here.

Feeling now that it was time for him to leave, Envy took again the form of Private Bindle. Once the folder was safely tucked under his military jacket, he walked out of the office like there was nothing wrong whatsoever.

"Well, Sir?" asked the janitor, still holding the stack of keys with which he opened the door for Envy. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

'Private Bindle' smirked. "I think I did."

---------------

"You just had to rush in and ruin everything, didn't you?"

That's what a very irritated Connors said, glaring at Fawcette.

"You ordered me to find anything that might connect that man to a compromising situation," said Fawcette, his face stern but pale. "There were a dozen compromising…"

"AND ALSO A DOZEN WITNESSES WHO WERE READY TO CONTRADICT YOU IN EVERY ONE OF THEM!" boomed Connors' voice throughout the office. He stood up and started pacing up and down the office, his body rigid and his muscles tense. "What you've done now is to make Mustang aware that we keep an eye on his precious pet! Not only that, but if there is anything out there that serves as that man's true identity, Mustang will now make sure it's destroyed!"

"Sir, with all due respect, I had hardly found anything anyway…"

"Really?" Connors stopped on his tracks, right in front of a wall where three swords were placed as ornaments. "You know my passion about swords, don't you, Lieutenant Colonel Fawcette? It's quite amazing what they can tell you about their forger, their wielder - even about themselves."

"Sir?"

But Connors didn't bother with an answer at once. He merely went back to his place behind the desk. "I will look into matters here, whereas _you'll_ go to Central. After all, you know the kind of red tape that plagues Central, don't you, Colonel Fawcette? Paper upon paper, registry upon registry, record upon record…" Connors' voice trailed off.

"But Sir, I've already phoned Central for any files that could have the name Beregond in it and I came up with nothing!"

"Have you now?" Connors said. "Then when you get to Central, you had better carry a picture of the sergeant with you. Faces can't change the same way names can."

Fawcette smiled almost cruelly as he finally caught on. "I see. I will leave for Central first thing tomorrow."

Connors nodded. "And make it appear as though I'm sending you away in disfavour. After all, that's what Mustang was aiming for with that threat of his. We might as well give him a false sense of victory so he can enjoy it while he can."

"Understood, Sir," Fawcette said, saluting. He was about to exit the door, when Connors' voice stopped him.

"Fawcette… do you know the story of a man and his horse? The man wanted to journey to another town, so he set off on his horse first thing in the morning. On his way, the horse stumbled and made him fall, but the man said nothing. He simply climbed up again and rode on, until the horse stumbled a second time. The man still didn't do anything except get up and ride. But when the horse stumbled a _third_ time, the man took out a gun and shot it in the head and thus gave a solution to his problem."

Fawcette turned and looked at the Brigadier General, trying to understand where his superior was getting with this.

"You've just stumbled twice, Fawcette," Connors voice rang softly yet deadly in the quiet of the office.

Feeling his insides suddenly twisting uncomfortably, Fawcette simply nodded and walked away.

----------------

Havoc had to admit that the afternoon passed by quite pleasantly. While Beregond was studying, _he_ had remained with Alice, who was more than happy to see the two men again. And even though he hadn't expected it, he wasn't in the least bored as he spent his time playing and joking with the little girl.

But now it was getting quite late, and Beregond hadn't shown up at all. Somehow Havoc was quite sure that the Gondorian got so immersed with his work that he hadn't realised that it was now almost closing time.

After all, he couldn't expect anything less from someone who happened to share the same lodgings with Edward and Alphonse Elric.

Sighing, Havoc's gaze drifted again at the direction of the little girl. She was curled up on the couch and caught in peaceful sleep, something that made Havoc smile. Before he realised what he was doing, he took off his military jacket and tenderly covered the smaller form, giving her a small peck on her cheek.

However, when Havoc turned around, he realised that Sarah was watching him. He quickly arose, blushing furiously at being caught as if he had done something wrong. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb her…" His voice trailed off, thinking that he was only making a fool out of himself.

Sarah just smiled and waved her hand dismissively in a sign to show him that she understood. She knelt beside her daughter and scrutinised every feature, making sure that there wasn't even a line of discomfort reflected there, and then nodded with an expression that clearly told she was satisfied. She quietly stood up and walked back to Havoc's side.

"It was a hard day for her. I wish there was something more I could do about her but I know I can't," she said softly. She gently gripped Havoc's arm in order to prod him out and so let Alice sleep on. As for Havoc, he tried not to think about the woman's fingers touching him.

Then he kicked himself mentally when he realised that that was precisely what he just did.

"And tomorrow will be even more difficult. You'll have to start preparing your bags," he blurted out, trying to keep a neutral tone in his voice.

Sarah nodded with a sigh. "And I'll have to do that on my own."

Havoc watched the woman for a few moments. Seeing her stressful expression, he decided that this wouldn't do.

"Perhaps not," he suddenly said. "Do you want help?"

Sarah blinked. She certainly hadn't expected this. "Are you offering it?"

"Yeah… and I'm sure Beregond will want to help too when I tell him," he added belatedly.

Green eyes locked on the lieutenant, a grateful gleam reflected in her eyes. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. When do you finish work?"

"I won't be working tomorrow. I was given the day off because of my transfer," Sarah said at once.

"And tomorrow's Sunday, which means Beregond and I won't be working either. So we can come by your house. Does 9 o'clock sound good?"

"9 o' clock sounds perfect," she said, the sweetest smile gracing her features in such a way that Havoc couldn't help but feel warm inside.

It was then that the great clock against the wall behind them chimed.

"11 o'clock," Sarah said quickly, withdrawing her fingers away from Havoc's arm. "I had better start closing the library."

"Yeah. I'll fetch Beregond," Havoc said just as fast and went in search of the Gondorian.

He certainly wasn't surprised when he found Beregond still bent over a book, jotting down something that obviously caught his interest. Havoc had expected it, after all.

Except… Beregond seemed more like…

Havoc sighed. Yup… Ed, at least, was _definitely_ a bad influence.

"Hey," he said softly, rapping the desk a bit.

Beregond instantly snapped up his head and looked around, blinking a bit in confusion. A crimson colour tinted his face as he understood what happened.

"I fell asleep, didn't I?"

"Only a bit," Havoc said, grinning. However, he sobered at once and settled on a chair opposite Beregond. "Look, I need to tell you something." And with a few brief words, he explained his offer to Sarah.

Beregond rubbed his chin thoughtfully at this. "I was thinking of coming back here and work some more. But I suppose I can always borrow the books, right? I want to help. It will be my way of saying goodbye, too."

"Yeah, it will," Havoc said, smiling a bit before standing up again. "Pack everything. We'll be leaving in ten minutes."

"Yes, Sir," Beregond said with a broad grin.

---------------

"This is the second time that you have to drive me and Alice home," said Sarah with a small laugh. She was sitting on the back seat after Havoc offered her a ride back to her place. "If I had the chance to remain in East City a little while longer, I would certainly get used to that kind of luxury." She looked down, where Alice was resting contently on her mother's lap. "Alice certainly has."

Havoc chuckled. "And there are some that I think will never get used to it," he said, casting a brief but very meaningful look at Beregond's direction.

The Gondorian was looking stubbornly up at the ceiling, his body tense and unmoving.

"I'd like to see you riding a horse," Beregond retorted, his tone a bit strained.

"No, thanks, I want to live," Havoc said, laughing. Realising that they had by now reached Sarah's house, he pulled over so that the woman could get out. They both exchanged goodnights, a warm smile brightening their features momentarily, and Havoc even watched her go inside her house with Alice in her arms, her hair now free from the hair-tie that was holding it in place and falling down her back. In fact, it was until after the door was closed behind her that he drove off, with Beregond still on the co-driver's seat.

It was Beregond's voice that first cut through the silence that reigned now inside the vehicle.

"You like her, don't you?"

Havoc blinked momentarily, not expecting such a question out of the blue. "She's a friend; your friend, to be exact. And she's a nice and fun enough person to hang out with. Why shouldn't I like her?" he said cautiously.

But it seemed Beregond couldn't be fooled even in his current condition. "That's not what I asked and you know it," he said, looking at Havoc through the corner of his eye.

Havoc locked his eyes on the road instead. "It doesn't matter anymore. She's leaving."

"True," Beregond said, looking upwards once again. "So what are you going to do?"

"In your own words, grit my teeth and get over it."

Beregond didn't speak again for some time. Then…

"You know, lately I've been seeing her a lot; not only because of Alice, but also because of my studies at the library. In fact, I see her almost everyday."

"So?" Havoc asked.

A faint smile crossed the Gondorian's features. "The first thing she says whenever she sees me is 'Good morning.' - every time."

Havoc nodded absentmindedly at first. However, he soon noticed that something was off.

"Is there a reason to this revelation?" he asked, a tad too sarcastically than he had intended perhaps.

"The second thing she says is: 'Did Mr. Havoc drive you here?'" Beregond answered softly. "Every time."

Havoc caught himself faltering. Was Beregond really telling him that…?

But he immediately shook his head.

"She's leaving."

"That doesn't mean you can't keep some kind of contact with her," Beregond insisted. "Do you really want to stop hearing news from her?"

Havoc didn't answer.

"I'll take that as no." There was a small pause before Beregond spoke again. "I'll tell you what. Once she gets settled in Central, I'll give you her address and phone-number."

Havoc tried to object. "Beregond--"

But the Gondorian kept on, undeterred. "What _you_ will do with them though, it's entirely up to you."

Havoc swallowed for a few moments, not sure what he should say. In the end, he just smiled weakly, because he could only admit it now.

Beregond's determination proved downright scary at times.

TBC...


	9. Catching Up

Maes Hughes was drenched in sweat after being swamped in paperwork for the last six hours when the phone rang. Huffing in dismay, he seriously considered not to answer that, feeling that he didn't have any time to be wasted. But then he figured that it was probably one of the higher-ups that wanted to get a report on the status of things in the office, so he decided it was to his best interest to pick up the receiver.

"Yes?"

There was a small pause as though whoever it was on the other line was hesitating, and then Maes heard a familiar voice.

"Hughes?"

Maes beamed at once.

"Beregond! What's up?" Before the Gondorian had the chance to answer though, Maes continued on. "Did you call to hear about Elysia? You know she can count up to ten now? You should hear her saying the numbers as she picks at each cute little finger of hers! I have yet to get a good picture of her while doing that, but I will eventually! And she's going to turn four next month! My little girl is growing up!"

If anyone walked in on Maes now, they would be certain that there were winged hearts floating around the lieutenant colonel's head.

Beregond seemed to have created a mental image like that while listening to Hughes, because Maes could have sworn he heard a mild chuckle.

"Next thing you know, she's going to get married," Beregond said.

Hughes sobered at once. "What do you mean, 'get married'? She's just a baby!" he said defensively.

"So much for growing up, eh?"

And like that, he was caught in the same subtle way which reminded him of Gracia. Maes let out a small condescending laugh.

"Touché," he said before sitting more comfortably on his chair. "Now… what's the _real_ reason you called?"

"Well, one of them is actually a favour," Beregond answered. Maes noted that the Gondorian's voice sounded nervous. "I know you have a lot of work though, so if you can't, it's perfectly fine."

Maes rolled his eyes. "First of all," he said in a teasing manner, "I've already told you it's perfectly okay to ask for help when problems present themselves. And second: I won't know if I can help you or not if you don't tell me what it is."

"Right," Beregond said, exhaling a breath.

_Jeez, you sound as though you're facing the execution squad,_ Maes thought.

"Okay, here's the deal," the Gondorian finally said. "There's this librarian, an acquaintance of mine actually, whose name is Sarah Abbot. As of today, she's to check in at the State Central Library. The trouble is she got the notification of her transfer so quickly that she didn't have time to arrange much and…" Beregond suddenly stopped and cleared his throat. "To cut a long story short: is it possible to help her settle nicely there?"

Maes guffawed.

"_That's_ what's been bothering you? And here I was thinking that you were to ask me something challenging!"

"So there's no problem?" Beregond asked, his tone clearly showing his relief.

"No problem whatsoever! When does she arrive?"

"Hang on a minute." There was the sound of shuffling papers for several moments, until Beregond finally answered: "5 o'clock today."

"Perfect," Maes said. "Gracia will be able to pick her up and show her around. And she can sleep at our place till I find some comfortable lodgings for her. I know just where to look, so it shouldn't take too long."

If Maes were able to, he would have seen Beregond gaping incredulously. "You really don't have to go through all that."

"I want to, no sweat," Maes said. "So, what does she look like? I'll need to give some description to Gracia if she's to pick her up."

"Well…" Beregond didn't speak as he thought hard for a couple of minutes. "She's in her mid twenties; long black hair, which she ties to a loose ponytail at times; green eyes; slender form. Her daughter, Alice, is about seven, turning eight this summer; blond, blue eyes…"

"She has a daughter?" Maes asked at once, smiling broadly. "That's wonderful! They can be friends with Elysia!"

"I was hoping for that. Alice was quite upset when she heard she had to leave, but I assured her she would find new friends."

"Then don't worry. Everything will be taken care of," Maes said reassuringly.

"Thank you, Hughes. I really do appreciate it."

"Anytime," Maes said. However, there was something in that tone that made him realise that there was something else. "Will that be all?" he asked, baiting Beregond.

"Um… no." There was another pause for quite some time. "I was wondering, really…"

"What about?" Maes said in the hopes that Beregond would open up.

"Did you hear from them at all?"

"Them? Oh!" Maes hadn't caught on at once. "I spoke with Armstrong yesterday. They're in Central and they're well, following a lead on the you-know-what; but I have yet to see them personally. The office is up to the ceiling filled with cases to be examined, and I can't get away not even for an hour."

"I see."

Maes frowned when he caught the disappointment in Beregond's voice. "What's the matter?"

"There was something that I really wanted to talk to them about. It's all right though. They should focus on their own search first."

"If you say so," Maes said with a shrug. He didn't want to pursue the matter further when it was clearly something between Beregond and the boys. "Do you want me to send your regards?"

"Please?"

Maes smiled before he could help it. _It looks like someone's been missing his friends._

"Then I will. Don't worry."

"Thanks."

It was then that the door opened again and a private came in with more case files in her hands. Maes groaned inwardly.

"Beregond, I'm afraid I have to go now. But still, call again some time, okay? Bye!"

And as soon as Beregond returned the farewell, Maes hung up the phone. He turned with a huge innocent grin at the private.

"You know… my daughter is turning four next month! Wanna see some pictures of her?"

It worked like a charm. The private vanished in the blink of an eye.

---------------------

Beregond put the receiver down with a sigh. There went _another_ chance for him to talk to Edward and Alphonse about what he had found.

Now he could only hope his luck would be better next time.

He caught sight of the paper on which he had written down the itinerary of the train Sarah and Alice were in. Picking it up, he threw it straight into the trashcan, since he didn't need it anymore. The woman and her little girl were gone, after all.

And that, incidentally, made Havoc less talkative than usual today. In fact, the only answer that anyone were able to get out of him was an absentminded "Yeah" – when Breda told him that there was a three-headed monkey hanging from the ceiling.

If that wasn't proof that Havoc's mind was elsewhere entirely, Beregond didn't know what was.

Then again, Havoc didn't know that Sarah had confidentially asked Beregond for Havoc's phone-number. And, of course, Havoc didn't know that Beregond gave it to her with a huge grin on his face, aware that the lieutenant would be in for quite the surprise in one of the days to follow.

It was then that a warm feeling settled in Beregond's heart and made him look out the window. He couldn't help it, but this situation brought back a lot of fond memories. Memories of a time when he and his fellow soldiers teased Meneldor, yet made sure their friend would get the woman of his heart's desire.

Exactly what Faramir did when Beregond's heart beat for…

He got up from his chair quite abruptly and stretched, scolding himself for letting his reminiscing run away with him. Surely there must be something to do around here to forget himself…

His musings were cut off when the door opened and Hawkeye stepped in.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye," he said and saluted politely, trying not to think that her timing was ironic.

"Am I interrupting you from something, Sergeant Beregond?" Riza asked after saluting as well. "I need to borrow some paperclips; I've run out."

Beregond smiled. "Edward keeps them in his desk. Hold on a second and I'll get them for you."

She didn't say anything this time, but she rewarded Beregond with a small smile as she waited patiently for Beregond to open the drawer.

The moment that he looked inside the drawer, Beregond froze.

_That can't be right!_

"Sergeant?"

She spoke formally, but Beregond didn't fail to notice the slight tone of worry. He quickly smiled and reached for the paperclips.

"For a moment I thought I didn't have any after all," he said in a carefree manner, handing her the little box. "Will these be enough?"

"They will do," Hawkeye answered, nodding her thanks. She was almost halfway out of the door, when she stopped on her tracks as though remembering something. "By the way, there is something else."

Beregond raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Oh?"

"Every Friday there is a small gathering of the unit at a bar not far from here. You missed last Friday, but the guys wanted me to let you know that you're more than welcome to join us from this Friday on."

Beregond was pleasantly surprised. "I'd really like that. Tell them it's settled."

"I will." And with that, she was gone.

Beregond still looked at the direction of the door for a few moments. And though he wanted to grin at the prospect of bonding with his new fellow soldiers, there were far more pressing matters at present. His gaze locked hard on the open drawer again.

Edward's large yellow folder was missing, even though Beregond was certain that he had seen it there only a few days ago.

_He_ didn't move it, so _who_ did? Without letting him know, no less?

It was then that a terrible suspicion crossed the Gondorian's mind and made him swallow hard.

Because Beregond realised that, if somebody _did_ steal the folder, it meant there was something quite important in there.

----------------

If anyone had cared enough to look at the Headquarters' terrace, they would have noticed a lithe young man sitting in the most carefree manner at the edge of it. They would also have been surprised by the strange clothing that barely covered his torso and hips, not to mention the unruly long dark-green strands of hair. In fact, he seemed more like a street bump, which meant he _shouldn't_ be near any military building.

In spite of that, a darkly-clothed and inhumanly beautiful woman walked up to him as though his presence there was the most natural thing in the world.

"Well, Envy?" Lust asked. Her high-heels made quite the loud clicking sound against the concrete floor as she walked towards the other homunculus.

Envy lifted his head just slightly, his face the epitome of contentment as he continued basking under the sun.

"Welcome back, Lust," he said. "What news?"

"I arrived with Gluttony at the State Central Library before the Fullmetal Boy as planned. But before we had the time to find Marcoh's notes for ourselves, we came across our other 'friend'. The fight was ugly, I can tell you that."

Envy finally opened his eyes and faced the female homunculus. "So the wound the sergeant inflicted on his arm is healed. The question is: what is he doing in Central?"

Lust shrugged. "I don't know. He was probably looking for something. Not that it makes all that much of a difference anyway. Because of his meddling, the entire 1st Branch was burned to the ground."

"Was he taken care of, at least?"

Lust shook her head. "It took me hours to get through to Gluttony and tell him he can get him next time."

Envy clicked his tongue. "_That_ could have been handled better. Nevertheless, the mission was a success. We may not have gotten the files, but neither has the shrimp."

Lust nodded and sat down beside Envy. "What about _your_ mission?"

Envy grinned as he patted a large yellow folder beside him. "It's going smoothly. Do you want to have a look?"

"Don't mind if I do," Lust said, smiling sweetly and taking the file. "It sounds a very promising reading."

"It is, though it's not complete," Envy admitted. "A very frustrated Lieutenant Colonel filled some holes here and there with his babbling, but I need a little bit more." An almost demonic grin formed on his lips as the idea that had already formed on his mind pleased him to no end. "And I think I know how I can get it."

-------------------------

"I'm sorry. Because they were so many, it took five days to complete."

Nevertheless, Scieszka seemed very happy to have finished her task. She had a very big smile on her face as she placed the notebooks and piles of papers down on the desk of her room.

"Here we are. The duplicates of Mr. Tim Marcoh's research documents," she announced, showing them proudly to her visitors.

Ed and Al couldn't do anything less but stare in wonder at the papers and the girl.

"She really did it," Al said, astounded.

"There are some incredible people in the world, aren't there, Al?" seconded Edward, his eyes widened. Both boys picked a notebook each, hardly believing that they had finally the object of their quest right before their eyes.

"You know, I begin to see why Marcoh didn't take his research with him," Al noted, checking the sheer volume of some documents. "There are just too many stuff."

"This is really Dr. Marcoh's?" Ed asked Scieszka.

"Yes, without a doubt," the girl said, still smiling. "Tim Marcoh's cook book - '1000 flavours for today's menu',"

That seemed to satisfy the young alchemists. However, it didn't satisfy the boys' escorts, who were looking at the girl incredulously.

"That can't be right!" Ross said. She instantly picked up a piece of paper to read it. "_Add a dash of water to one tablespoon of sugar…_" She looked up again. "This really _is_ '1000 flavours for today's menu'!"

"Hey, you!" Bloch exclaimed, frowning at Scieszka's direction. "Just how are these important documents?!"

"Impor--?" Scieszka clearly didn't expect this. "Oh no! I only copied them as I read and remembered!"

Bloch blinked. "So this is something completely different, written by a namesake? Was this a waste of time?"

But neither Al nor Ed paid attention to what was going around them anymore. They were just looking at the papers, murmuring and finally coming to an agreement.

Ed turned again at Scieszka. "This is really what Marcoh wrote, word for word, without a mistake?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm positive!" Scieszka answered at once.

At that reply, Ed smiled broadly. "Okay. Al, let's take this back to Central Library."

"Yup, there are plenty of dictionaries there, too," Alphonse agreed.

The other three members of the party looked at the alchemists in a confused manner, feeling that they were missing something. Ed was far from finished though. He took out a small notebook and scribbled something on it hastily before giving it to Ross along with his pocket watch.

"2nd Lieutenant Ross, I have here my registration code, my signature and my silver watch; they will serve as proof of my identity. Go to the State Alchemist Division at the Führer's office, withdraw from my annual research funds the sum of money that I wrote and then give it to Scieszka."

"Yes, sir," Ross said at once, taking the items carefully.

"Good." And with that, Ed picked up several stacks of papers and followed Bloch and Al out of the door. "Thanks a lot, Scieszka!"

Ross and the young girl looked at each other, now more confused than never.

"Hmm… from his research expenses…" Ross murmured. Before she could help it, she and Scieszka took a peek at the piece of paper on which Ed had written minutes before.

They both blanched at once.

"Why is there so much money?!" Scieszka exclaimed.

On the other hand, Ross wondered something different entirely.

"What kind of a kid can pull that kind of sum?!"

-----------------------

"I still don't understand what this stuff has to do with what you're looking for," Bloch said in disbelief. He looked again at the papers that were now at the table of the Central Library, scratching his head in a confused manner.

Ed sighed. That was one of the reasons that he wanted Beregond here instead of Bloch as an escort. The Gondorian would have understood that this 'stuff' had everything to do with it.

Still, he was in such a good mood that he decided to indulge the man.

"Alchemists have a code to offer the fruits of their research to anyone who needs it without bias - _Be thou for the people_," he explained. "But we've also got to prevent non-practitioners from learning that knowledge."

"Oh, I see," Bloch said, his features brightening. "It would be a problem if alchemy were easily understandable and used for the wrong purposes."

"And how do they prevent that from happening?" Ed asked in the manner of a teacher giving a lesson to a small kid. "By coding their alchemic research documents." He picked up one of the papers and showed it to Bloch. "To a non-practitioner, this looks like they're only looking at recipes. In fact, they're highly advanced files on alchemy with many hidden meanings and metaphors that only the one who wrote them can understand."

"Someone that only the one who wrote it can understand…" Bloch echoed. "But then… how are you going to decode it?"

"By using a little knowledge and a lot of patience," Ed answered, settling down on the chair near him.

"Ugh… That seems to be daunting," Bloch said.

Al nodded. "But I think that parts that were modelled after recipes are still easy to decode. After all, there are people that say alchemy was born from the kitchen," he said. "Brother's research notes are written like travelogues; so even if I read them, I wouldn't be able to understand."

"While a certain someone's that I know are just the names of women," Ed said conversationally.

That earned him a very curious look from Al.

Ed huffed slightly at the memory as he told what happened.

"There was this time that Havoc wanted to see just how many girlfriends he lost because of _him_, but he 'borrowed' his alchemic journal by mistake instead. Don't ask me how I know all this; it's too long a story and not a pretty one."

By now it was clear that Bloch was getting too lost. "Do you mean that Sergeant Beregond?" he asked curiously.

Ed and Al laughed out loud as soon as those words sank in.

"No," Al finally answered. "But his code is unique and virtually unbreakable, too. He is the only one who can read it."

"Why? What is he using?"

"His mother language," Ed said with a smile.

"A foreigner, eh? That explains the weird name…" Bloch said in a mumbling tone before he could help it. "But that means that anyone else who happens to know his language can just translate his notes!"

"That's why it's unbreakable," Al said. "There is no one else."

"No one?" Bloch exclaimed, his eyes widening. "How?"

"It's kinda complicated and we wouldn't want to say anything more without his consent," Ed said. "Perhaps you'll get to meet him one day and you'll see for yourself what we're talking about." And with that, the young alchemist looked again at the notes.

This was it. The answer to their problems was in their hands. All they had to do was break the code and then…

Ed's heart warmed as he thought at the infinite prospects that would open before him and his brother.

"All right, Al!" announced Ed. "Let's decode this and take a look at the truth!"

"Right!" Al cried happily.

---------------------

"Are you certain of this, Sergeant?" Roy asked. He was sitting behind his desk, looking hard at the Gondorian.

Beregond nodded. "The folder was there the last time I looked in that drawer."

"And there was no sign of forced entry?"

"None whatsoever."

Mustang crossed his arms and remained for several moments lost in thought. "Do you know what was in that folder by any chance?"

Beregond shook his head. "Edward said that he was to work on this on his own, so I didn't touch it except whenever I gave it to him or put it back in its place. All I can tell you is that it was large and yellow."

Mustang's eyes widened slightly at this. "Yellow, you said?"

That was enough for Beregond to realise something. "Do you know which folder I'm talking about, Sir?"

"I think I have an idea…" Roy replied softly, but he didn't continue. He just nodded in reassurance. "I will look into this personally, Sergeant. Meanwhile, I think it's best if you should focus on your own search in order to find the answers you're looking for."

"Should I tell of this to Edward, Sir?" Beregond asked. "It was his file."

Roy shook his head. "There is no need to worry him for the present."

"Understood, Sir," Beregond said and saluted. "Have a good night."

After Roy had saluted as well, Beregond walked out and headed for his home, clothed heavily to repel the frosty cold of winter. Before he crossed the gate, he looked one last time at the direction of Headquarters to see a single light on the top floor and the figure of the Colonel pacing up and down the room.

It didn't take a great mind to understand that Roy was troubled. And it didn't take a great mind to understand that that sounded like bad news to Beregond either.

What was in that folder anyway?

But Beregond decided not to think about it anymore. There was nothing he could do anyway, even though he didn't like this turn of events at all. So, he just lifted his gaze at the stars, since their brilliance was a sight that always comforted him, and then moved on.

He had barely taken ten steps when he heard a small meowing sound quite close to him. Beregond stopped on his tracks and looked around, trying to determine from where the cat had called. A second meowing helped him pinpoint the location and he picked up a couple of carton boxes so as to look underneath them.

A pair of half lidded copper-coloured eyes looked up at him, and then the orange tabby kitten meowed pitifully again, shivering violently.

Beregond had to admit to himself that it was quite the heart-wrenching sight.

"Neithan tithen ûn," (Poor little thing) he murmured before he could help it. "Man cerich sí?"(What are you doing here?)

He didn't expect an answer of course. So he simply extended both hands and tentatively placed them on the kitten.

"Avo 'osto. Ú-thelin ûthaes." (Don't fret. I won't harm you.)

The kitten seemed to sense what it was told, because it didn't put up a fight as the man picked it up and put it on the inside of his thick jacket to warm it. Beregond winced at how skinny and weak the small creature was, but the kitten seemed to be much happier now. It started purring quite loudly and rubbing its head against the man's chin.

"Ú-'erich dartho mi ring," (You can't stay in the cold) Beregond said thoughtfully, rubbing the animal slightly behind its ears. "Ingon telithath go nín."(I guess you will come with me.)

The kitten didn't bother to respond in any way. It just closed its eyes and enjoyed the body warmth it was offered for the duration of the walk back to Beregond's house. As soon as Beregond unlocked the door, it jumped out of the man's grasp and hurried inside to settle on the couch, still purring and watching the man in a friendly manner.

Beregond couldn't help but chuckle. "Tegithon aes," (I'll bring food) he said, and headed into the kitchen. "Estelion 'erin nad an le." (I hope I have something for you)

All the kitten did was close its eyes in contentment. It had every reason to be happy, after all.

Still smiling, Beregond opened the refrigerator and took a peek inside. "Looks like it will be cold chicken for both of us, little one," he declared, slipping into the Amestrian Tongue out of habit.

He grinned broadly as the purring reached his ears even louder.

"I take that as a yes!"

---------------------

A quarter of an hour later, Beregond had finished his dinner and it was time to see to some small chores around the house. He arose and went to the kitchen sink to wash his plate, followed closely by a very exuberant and playful kitten. It even managed to cling with all four claws on the man's trousers, enjoying the ride as the Gondorian walked about, something that made the man laugh heartily. In fact, it only settled down when Beregond picked it up and held it in his arms. To be precise, it went almost completely limb like a ragdoll, allowing Beregond to pet it to its heart's content, until Beregond settled cross-legged on the floor and picked up a book with his free hand.

"Time for work now. I hope you don't mind, little one."

But the kitten dug its claws on the man's sleeve, thus making it quite clear that it had no intention whatsoever of letting go of the man's arm. So, Beregond settled with holding the book in one hand, while the kitten kept sniffing every now and then at the pages as the Gondorian turned them.

At that moment, Beregond couldn't help thinking that the kitten reminded him too much of Edward: small, yet strong and lively – not to mention eager and curious and wishing to know everything.

And, of course, Beregond knew a certain someone who would have loved having the kitten around. Al had a really gentle heart.

The little creature's fur got ruffled as the man heaved a sigh, making it shudder involuntarily. The kitten looked at the man with what could only be labelled a reproachful look.

"I just wish my friends could have seen you," Beregond said, petting it a bit before turning his attention to the book again. "Now… where were we? Ah… the journey of the fairies and their realms…"

And with that, the Gondorian resumed with his studying. He never noticed that the kitten locked its copper-coloured eyes on his form, studying ihim/i. Nor did he realise that it was listening on to everything the man mumbled under his breath as he still read on the book, as well as paying utmost attention to everything that was scribbled on a notebook nearby. Indeed, the only time that Beregond lifted his gaze was to look at the small clock on the table and so finally admit that it was ivery/i late.

"No wonder I feel drowsy," he declared to no one in particular. He closed the book and placed the kitten down so that it would curl up and sleep in a corner, whereas he made all the necessary nightly rituals before settling on the couch with a blanket covering him. When he wrote one final thing on his journal, he flicked off the switch of the lamp beside him and covered the room in darkness. In less than ten minutes, his breathing had relaxed and he was fast asleep.

But the kitten didn't feel like sleeping. It just jumped on the small table that was beside the couch and settled there, watching Beregond in silence and its tail swishing back and forth.

_TBC…_


	10. Friday

He looked around in an uncertain manner, but there was nothing to see. Nothing, that is, except sand and the blazing sun above. He felt hot wind on his cheeks, even though there was hardly anything stirring.

The entire place was desolate, and Scar didn't know what to make of it.

_Where am I?_ he thought. He tried to take a deep breath, but it wasn't possible. The heat was almost blocking his lungs.

And yet…

This smell… Is this Ishbal?

He dearly hoped it wasn't.

On the other hand… what else could it be?

"Brother?" He checked his surroundings again. "Master?"

There was no answer.

_Where is everyone? Why am I alone?_

"Heya."

Scar looked up at a small rocky precipice nearby to see a man there; a lean, wretched man, whose clothes were ragged and his long black hair messy and oily. He seemed harmless enough, but there was something on that man's grin and the cruel look in those yellow eyes that had Scar worried.

"Who are you? You're not from Ishbal," he said.

The man laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry, how rude of me. I forgot my manners."

With a deliberate slowness, the man turned his palms upward so that Scar could see two identical alchemical arrays tattooed on his palms.

The Ishbalan gaped. What was going on?

"I'm the State Alchemist that's in charge of the annihilation of this region!"

Scar's heart missed a beat. _No! No, it can't be!_

Screaming his anger, Scar lunged at the State Alchemist, his right arm glowing as he got ready for the kill.

Except… he wasn't fighting the State Alchemist anymore. There was no sand under his feet or a blazing sun above him. In fact, it was cold and dark, whereas the ground was concrete-hard and making an echoing sound with every step he took.

He knew the place. He was back at Central Library, the place he was hoping to find some answers about his arm.

He came across something that could hardly be labelled human instead.

The man-like creature attacked, opening his jaws wide, but Scar proved faster. He placed his right hand on the creature's face and attempted to destroy it from the inside, the same way he always killed his victims.

To his surprise and horror, the creature only grinned maniacally. Before Scar could react, it had also grabbed Scar's side so powerfully that the sound of ribs cracking filled the room. Scar tried to scream as pain coursed through him, but that bulk of an arm wouldn't let any air in his lungs.

Nevertheless, he didn't give up. He couldn't afford to. And it was with that thought that his right arm glowed again and he grabbed the huge arm.

It worked. The arm was split in two and Scar was released. The Ishbalan landed on his feet, ready to fight in spite of his injury.

It was then that _she_ came.

For the next few seconds, all Scar could do was stare incredulously, because this wasn't possible. It couldn't be _her!_

Yet the eyes, the face…

No, it wasn't her; it was something that merely resembled her. It had to be, since that thing didn't seem to recognise him. It merely smiled and extended elongated claws, ready to pierce his heart.

He was doomed.

Unless…

In one desperate move, he placed his arm on a wall nearby.

As though the sound of the explosion reverberated through his body a second time, Scar woke up, sweat-drenched and breathing heavily.

He froze at the next instant, because the surroundings that were now unveiled before him didn't seem right at all.

Why was he in a tent and covered with a blanket?

_How…?_

"Oh! You're awake!"

Scar quickly turned and saw a young boy pushing the flaps of the tent and walking in. His clothes were ragged and he wore a cap on his head, whereas he didn't seem any more than nine years of age. Moreover, he was holding a bowl full of water and a piece of cloth in his hands.

"I'm alive," Scar said.

"Yeah," the boy said, his red eyes reflecting his mirth. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't get up."

"Where am I?" Scar asked next.

"You're in a slum that's on the outskirts of Central."

Scar frowned as he tried to piece things together in his mind. "So I was saved."

"Hey, be grateful," the boy said. "My brother and I were surprised. A person among huge chunks of debris isn't something one sees everyday."

Scar didn't say anything. He just looked around again, this time with a thoughtful look on his face. There was hardly anything in the tent but the barest essentials - old and battered at that.

The boy smiled at the expression on the man's face and wetted the cloth. "There's no way that people this poor can afford to save people. That's what you're thinking, right?" He placed the cloth on Scar's forehead. "Yeah, that's right. If you were a normal guy, we'd take everything you had off of you and leave you among the debris for dead. But…" He leaned closer and looked at Scar's features carefully. "You're an Ishbalan, aren't you?"

Scar's eyes widened as he stared at the boy, hardly believing his ears. How was the boy aware that…?

But the boy merely chuckled. "My brother and I are Ishbalans, too." After standing up and dusting his knees, he pushed the flaps aside again. "Hey! He's up!"

A few minutes later, an old man walked in. Scar took note of the kindly smile on his face, albeit partly hidden by his long, white beard.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, young one," he said. He also looked closely at Scar as though scrutinising him. "You're that man, aren't you? The wanted criminal everyone's looking for?"

Scar didn't expect such a blunt question. Still, he knew that lying about such a thing would be pointless, so he nodded.

"Are you going to turn me in?" he asked apprehensively.

At those words, the old man cackled and sat cross-legged on the floor. "No need to get defensive! This slum has nothing but people of the blood of Ishbal. There isn't a fool here that would sell out his own kin."

Truly enough, more Ishbalans gathered around, their red eyes locked on the form of the mysterious fellow compatriot. Scar could even pick up several voices saying: "Oh, you're up! Mister, you want anything? Of course, we ain't got nothing good around here!" And all he could do was look at each and every one, a small smile tugging his lips.

"To think that there would be so many survivors of Ishbal," he said softly.

"Not just here," the old man said. "There are small refugee camps throughout the land. They're quiet, but surviving well. We can get along fine living in a place that reeks this much of soot!" Another cackle escaped his lips. "_All in the world is the bosom of our god, Ishbala_, after all."

Scar's smile actually widened for a brief moment, but it didn't last.

"I'm sorry for being a burden," he said. He tried to get up, but that proved a mistake. His ribs protested the movement, and he had to grit his teeth in order to stop the exclamation of pain slipping out of his lips.

"Hey! Don't move yet!" the boy said. "You were close to dying!"

Scar nodded his compliance and so he lay down again. However, he still wanted to be sure about something. His eyes locked on the young kid again.

"What's your name?"

The boy smiled. "Rick."

"All right. Rick… Is my right arm still there?"

Rick was certainly surprised and he didn't even bother to hide it. "Your right arm? Sure. It's hurt bad, of course, but it's still with you."

There was a pause, and then Rick spoke again.

"It's really cool… your right arm, I mean." He picked it up gently and pointed at the markings on the man's arm. "Is that a tattoo?"

Scar nodded darkly.

"Yes… something I got from my family."

And that was all he said.

------------------------------

Friday was the day that a lot of things diverted from Beregond's normal routine. For one thing, he arrived home much earlier than the previous days - just after the sun had set, in fact. Moreover, he didn't have any books with him today, for the very simple reason that he didn't need them anymore.

Oh yes, these last five days had been the most productive when it came down to studying. He had read all the myths that there were to be read and written down all the important details and conclusions after comparing them with the tales of his world. He even kept summaries of them and descriptions of any illustrations he came across so to be able to reference them quickly enough. So it seemed the largest and most difficult part of his research was done, and Beregond had every reason to be relieved and happy.

Had every reason to be, but couldn't. Because at the last step before considering his task done, he hit a most troublesome snag that could – and _did_ - put his research into a standstill.

Pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt a headache settling in, he stepped into the house and collapsed on the couch. Deciding that he didn't want to do anything else that day except remain there, he let his eyes drop shut and thus cut himself off from the rest of the world.

Well, tried to anyway. Beregond suddenly felt something light jumping on his chest -light and purring. He forced one eye open and he half-smiled when he saw the kitten sitting just inches away from his face, looking at him in what could only be described as a quizzical manner.

"Ú-aniral istach," (You don't want to know) he murmured, petting the animal slightly on the head. Sighing, he took his journal out of the pocket of his jacket and started turning idly the pages, partly hoping that he could catch another hint and so continue his research.

He found nothing. When he finally reached the last page, he huffed in dismay and tossed the thing on the small table in front of him. And a few moments later, he had closed his eyes again.

The next thing he knew was the sound of someone knocking at the door. He opened his eyes, somehow realising that he had fallen asleep but unable to gauge for how long. All he knew was that he was almost surrounded in darkness and a small lamp beside him was the only source of light.

He couldn't even remember turning that thing on.

A second knock at the door snapped him out of his drowsy reverie once again. "Coming!" he managed to call out, but _that_ was easier said than done. He hit his leg against the table on his first two attempts to get up and, when he _did_ get up, he had to shake his head repeatedly to rid himself of the slumber that stubbornly clung on him.

Finally, after finding the wits to rest his hand on his sword, he opened the door.

It was Havoc. And he was casually clothed, for that matter.

"What…?" Beregond started, but the lieutenant proved faster as he examined the sleep-tussled Gondorian from head to toe.

"I see you don't remember what day it is today," he said, raising an eyebrow.

Beregond blinked, mentally trying to push the gears in his brain to function once again. "Friday," he finally answered. And then, realisation hit him. "Friday!"

"Oh, good, you didn't kill _all_ your brain cells reading," Havoc teased. However, his next words clearly showed his concern. "You must have been really tired to be asleep from 9.30. I'm sorry for waking you."

Beregond's answer just came in the form of his usual mock punch on Havoc's arm. "I'll live," he said with a smile. He beckoned the other man in while he headed for the bathroom. "Just give me ten minutes, okay?"

"So you're coming?" Havoc asked with a smile.

"I said I would, didn't I?" Beregond said, flashing a grin over his shoulder. "Anyway, it will get my mind off some unpleasant things that I don't want to think about right now."

Havoc regarded the Gondorian curiously. "Does it have to do with your research?"

"Unfortunately," Beregond said before splashing water on his face.

"Sorry to hear it."

Beregond didn't answer for some time. He decided to change the subject instead. "So who else is it going to be in our gathering?"

"Everyone," Havoc answered. "I was to pick you up; Falman, Breda and Fuery would come together; and Riza would bring Mustang."

"Good. I needed to talk to the Colonel."

"Does it have to do with the office?"

"Yes. It's about a missing file."

Havoc clicked his tongue several times in disapproval. "You'll have to forget it. On Friday nights, we put aside work."

Now freshly shaved, Beregond stepped out of the bathroom and looked at Havoc in disbelief. "But…"

"No buts," Havoc said, winking. "There is a reason for this get together, and that is so we can all meet as friends and talk about as many pointless things as we can. You said you wanted to get away, right?"

Beregond contemplated matters for a moment as he changed from his uniform to something more casual. "True."

"Then it's settled! We won't talk about anything that has the word "office" alongside it!" Havoc declared.

The Gondorian couldn't help but smile at this, and he had to admit that Havoc was right. He _did_ need to forget his troubles, at least for tonight.

"And what are we going to talk about?" Beregond asked. He put on a pullover over his shirt and so placed the final touches to his sporty attire.

Havoc's eyes glinted with slight mischief at that question. "How about… how did Sarah get a hold on my phone number?"

Beregond instantly grinned. "I take it she called then."

"And _I_ take it _you_ had something to do with it."

"Maybe," the Gondorian answered in an _almost_ innocent tone.

Havoc smiled _almost_ sweetly. "You realise, of course, that now I have to kill you."

"There are people expecting us _both_ to show up," Beregond pointed out, taking a few steps back.

"I'll tell them you were involved in a tragic accident."

Beregond made a pouting face. "Don't tell me it went that bad."

"Oh, it went lovely," Havoc answered, still smiling and now taking a few deliberate steps towards Beregond's direction. "We spent on the phone a bit more than an hour telling each other of our news. She even told me how helpful Hughes had been, how she loved the new place and how Alice was happy. _I_, on the other hand, was just content to listen to her voice and I kept wishing she didn't have to hang up. On top of all that, she gave me her address and invited me over some time." He paused just for a moment to give Beregond a tiger-shark grin. "The problem is, _Gondorian_… you set me up behind my back."

Beregond acted like he swallowed hard in fear. "Is there any chance for peace negotiations?"

Havoc briefly made a face as if thinking, only to answer: "None."

Beregond just shrugged. "Well, it was worth the shot."

"One dies trying, doesn't he?" Havoc replied… before grabbing Beregond in a bear-hug. "Thank you so much!" he cried giddily.

"I see. I'm to be hugged to death. What a way to go," the Gondorian said in a mock-mournful tone. Nevertheless, he returned the embrace with a big smile.

But that gesture of camaraderie was all too familiar to Beregond and it made his heart miss a beat. At the next instant, the memory of two young men playing in the snow and laughing joyfully - one a soldier and the other the Steward's secondborn - entered his mind.

_Valar, it seems so long ago…_

But he chased away the dark thoughts, because he still remembered Edward's promise.

_Whatever comes in, it can come out._

"Well," Beregond finally declared, letting go and patting the lieutenant on the shoulder, "I do believe there are still people expecting us to show up."

Havoc nodded with a smile, unaware of Beregond thoughts. In a matter of moments, they had both walked out, locking the door behind them.

Only then did the kitten decide to step out of the shadows where it had hidden throughout the men's conversation. It locked its gaze on the notebook, and then Envy had returned to his androgynous form, grinning at the prospect of success.

-------------------------------

By the time Beregond and Havoc arrived at the bar, the rest of the unit were already there and had ordered their share of drinks. And as he looked at each one of them, Beregond couldn't help but think how different they all looked without their uniforms. Even their demeanour seemed different. It was more relaxed and carefree.

_This is a get together of friends indeed_, he thought.

It was Black Hayate who first noticed them. The dog gave a happy bark and instantly rushed at them, tongue lolling out of his mouth and eyes reflecting his joviality.

"What do you know, you guys made it!" said Breda, seeing the newcomers approaching the table.

"What kept you?" Fuery asked.

"That would be me," Beregond said, his cheeks turning a tinge of pink. "Sorry about that."

"Better late than never, as the wise say," Mustang said, a small smile tugging on his lips. He motioned his hand at the direction of the two chairs that were still empty, while a waitress came up to the table to take the newcomers' orders.

"Whiskey for me," Havoc said.

The waitress nodded. "And you, sir?" she asked Beregond.

Beregond thought about it for a moment, uncertain. "Do you have ale?"

"Of course. Light or dark?"

The Gondorian _beamed_. "The darker the better."

The waitress smiled. "A northerner, I see. I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks," Beregond said, smiling also. However, when the waitress was gone, he looked at the others questioningly. "Northerner?"

Falman was the one to provide the answer. "Dark, or brown ale, is the basic imported product from the northern parts of Amestris and beyond. It's vastly produced in Drachma and…"

"We get the picture, Vato," Breda said with a roll of his eyes before turning to Beregond. "So, yeah, you saved the trouble of explaining yourself."

The Gondorian chuckled. "It's kind of ironic. I was born in the southern parts of Middle-earth, actually; in Minas Tirith."

"Is that a city?" Riza asked with interest.

Beregond nodded. "It was the capital of Gondor." At that, the others made a small exclamation of acknowledgement as they recognised that name. "It was also the greatest city of the race of Men."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "There are other races there?" he asked.

"Not in Minas Tirith. But throughout Middle-earth? Yes," Beregond said, "and they have far more differences than just skin-colour or eye-colour, like it happens here." He paused for a moment, thinking matters carefully as to how to proceed. "There are Dwarves, for instance. They're well known for their mining and forging skills. They're also considered unlovely by the other races, because of their wild faces and abrupt manners. Nevertheless, they are formidable warriors and fearsome axe-wielders." He took a swing of his ale, letting the mouthful linger momentarily before swallowing.

"Did you ever meet one?" Havoc asked conversationally.

"I've seen several of them; I've even talked with one; but I didn't really become friends with any," Beregond answered with a shrug. "The only one from another race I've ever befriended was a Hobbit."

"A what?!" It was Breda who had voiced that question, though everyone's expression showed that they were all just as curious.

"A Hobbit," Beregond repeated, chuckling. "They're close in appearance to Men, but their ears are leaf-shaped and they're quite small, only children in your and my eyes. Pippin – that is, my friend – always liked to say that, at his age of twenty-nine, the only way that he would grow was sideways."

"Are there many of those… Hobbits?" Roy asked, a strange gleam in his eyes.

"Quite a lot actually, from what I was told," Beregond said. "Their homeland is separated into four large farthings. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I just happen to know somebody who would be _quite_ at home among them," Roy answered with a grin.

There were several sniggers to be heard at that. Riza settled with a dignified sigh at her superior's immaturity at times; Fuery choked on his drink and straightened his glasses; whereas Beregond hid his face behind his glass in embarrassment.

"As a matter of fact, there was a time that I thought he _was_ one," he mumbled. "But I know that if I tried to apologise for my misassumption, I'd be throttled."

That caused another round of laughter and a "Nah, he likes you, so he'd just hit you on the stomach with his metal arm."

"How about other races?" Riza asked at that moment.

"Ah, now we come to it," Beregond said. "For you can learn all that there is to learn about Dwarves and Hobbits in less than a year, if you will; but Elves are the most mysterious and elusive of all creatures."

Fuery nodded. "I know that name. My grandfather used to tell me about them when I was a kid. He said they were very small and shy."

_Did he now?_ Beregond thought. But he shook his head, a smile tugging his lips as he drank from his ale again. "Nothing like that. They are like you and I, in fact. Yet, if you ever cast your gaze on one, you'll _know_ that there's something different about them. Most people will tell you it's their leaf-shaped ears but… that wouldn't be true." Beregond paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. "Both male and female Elves are beautiful beyond the measure of men, and the light of the stars is reflected in their eyes. And though they look and sometimes act young, preferring to sing and dance in the forests where they dwell, they feel ancient and they carry the burden of unsurpassable wisdom of years untold; for they are, in truth, immortal, and have seen many wonders of Middle-earth at the passing of time. _They_ were the first to be born into the world of Middle-earth and _they_ named all the things on it, animals and plants alike, since their bond to nature and Middle-earth runs deeper than the Secondborn, the race of Men. And the knowledge that they passed on to Men in old alliances is nothing compared to the Firstborn's true power."

It was then that he stopped, because he noticed that everyone was looking at him with an unreadable expression.

"I got carried away, didn't I?" he asked.

"It's not that," Havoc said, looking at him strangely.

Beregond blinked. "I have foam on my face?"

That earned him several chuckles.

"Actually, Beregond," Roy said, finally discarding the awful "mister" word that always had the Gondorian groan inwardly, "When you described the Elves… you also described yourself in the process."

"I did?" asked the Gondorian in disbelief.

"Yes," Falman answered. "You look much younger than forty, for example."

"You even _act_ younger than your age," Breda said. He rolled his eyes when Riza said quietly: "That could also apply to you, Heymans."

"And look at Hayate!" Fuery said, pointing at the dog. Indeed, Black Hayate had settled his head against the Gondorian's thigh, looking at him with eyes clearly reflecting affection. "I mean, animals trust you without so much as a second thought; you can even talk to them! I'd _kill_ to be able to do that!" He grinned sheepishly when everyone looked at him curiously. "Figure of speech," he explained.

"Not to mention that there is about you a kind of air that reminds one of… of…" Havoc stumbled on his words as he tried to find the correct term.

"Nobility," Roy provided for him.

"Old-fashioned chivalry," Riza said.

"Sagacity," Falman added.

"Right. That." Havoc gave a conceding smile to the others, and then grinned at Beregond's direction. "Combined with an ass-kicking sword buckled on your side."

"Do I look so strange to your eyes then?" Beregond asked, perplexed. He drank some more of his ale and petted Hayate's head, a gesture much appreciated by the dog. "I suppose I am," he mused aloud. "I have Elven blood in my veins."

Everyone blinked. "One of your parents was an Elf?" asked Fuery.

Beregond laughed good-naturedly at once. "No, nothing like that!" He immediately nudged Havoc to make him stop staring at his ears; the lieutenant was apparently looking at them to see if they were pointy or not. "It's told that an Elven-maiden by the name of Lúthien fell in love with Beren, a Man. By the grace of the Valar, their offspring had the privilege whether they could be counted among the Elven or the Men's race. One of them, Elros, chose to become a Man and he created a kingdom in an island west of Middle-earth so that he and his people, the Númenóreans, could live in peace. And they say it was good at first. The Númenóreans, blessed with Elven blood, were immune to illnesses and their life was far more expanded than other Men's. Elros himself lived to be five hundred years old."

_Wow…_ mouthed Breda. The rest of the company carried similar expressions on their faces. Beregond nodded to assure them that it was true.

"That is, until dark days followed," he continued on. "Guided by false words of the Dark Lord Sauron that sounded fair in their ears, the Númenóreans became far too much corrupted, so the Valar were forced to destroy that island and everyone on it as punishment. The only ones to survive were a few faithful ones who sailed back to Middle-earth and, once there, two more kingdoms were eventually founded: Arnor and Gondor."

"So what you're saying is that you are one of those faithful ones' descendants," Roy said.

Beregond nodded again. "The Elven blood is all but spent after the passing of so many centuries and the mingling with other races of Men, but it's still there. Even visibly so from what you've told me."

"How was the island destroyed?" Riza asked curiously.

"It sank," Beregond answered; "Vanished beneath gigantic waves sent by the Valar in their wrath. And from that day it's remembered among the people of Gondor as the Island of Atalantë, the Downfallen."

It was then that a gasp escaped Falman's lips, making everyone turn at his direction.

"Vato?"

Falman didn't answer at once. His expression still reflected the shock that he was clearly going through.

"Falman, you better snap out of it before I make it an order," Roy said.

The warrant officer took a couple of _very_ large swings out of his drink, nearly emptying it, and then looked at Beregond. "You said the name of that sunken island is Atalantë, right?"

"Yes," the Gondorian answered hesitantly. He couldn't understand what made Falman so edgy.

Falman leaned close as though about to reveal something very important. The others followed suit, ready to listen.

"In the history books there's mention of an old continent which sunk under mysterious circumstances long ago; before even prehistory, as we know it, started. Though it can be assumed that all the people drowned during that mass destruction, it's still believed that some of them survived and populated the countries of today." He looked at the Gondorian's direction once more and finally let it out.

"The name of that continent was Atlantis. It sounds too similar to be mere coincidence, no?"

At that, the Gondorian let himself sit back, staring at Falman. "I see," he said. He noticed the question in the other soldiers' eyes, so he decided to explain matters. "Earlier today and as I was reading through the mythology books, I was dismayed to find out that they ended quite abruptly with the tale of the Ancient Mariner and his wife. I had already managed to find more than just a few similarities between the tales of my people and your myths. So, when I read on the final pages about a country which was supposedly favoured by the Gods until it perished overnight, I thought I was reaching to the end of my research – even to some reason behind those similarities."

"But you didn't?" Fuery asked.

Beregond nodded ruefully. "Apparently, the particular volume with those kind of myths has _yet_ to be published." He turned to Falman. "Still, this is interesting. You said that you read that information in history books?"

Falman nodded.

"Wait a minute," Breda said, raising a hand so everybody would stop. "How could something that Falman read in _history_ books be connected to _mythology_ books? The first state _facts_ and the latter state _stories_ out of people's heads!"

Roy crossed his arms, frowning as he contemplated matters. "Nevertheless, even in those stories, there's always a grain of truth."

"History becomes legend; legend becomes myth. And it would seem that that applies quite appropriately in this sunken realm's case." Beregond replied, rubbing his chin. He huffed slightly. "It looks like I _will_ have to talk to Syndow as soon as possible. I need to know just from _where_ he got those myths. What Falman said shows that it can't just be from storytellers alone!"

"No, indeed," Roy agreed thoughtfully. "I feel that you are just a few steps away from discovering the ultimate connection between your world and ours. You can't give up now."

Beregond smiled grimly. "That will be a bit difficult considering that I don't know where I can find Syndow – if he's still alive, that is."

"Don't be so sure of that," Roy said, smiling in an enigmatic manner. "Falman?"

Complying, Falman started reciting with the precision he was well-known among his comrades: "John Ronald Syndow: Born on January 3rd, 1834, near the outskirts of Dublith. He's best known for his vast knowledge of extinct languages and has a doctorate on ancient Amestrian language specifically. He's now a Professor of Modern Literature, currently teaching in East City University. However, his interest on the ancient world hasn't diminished in the least and his compilation of books about them is one of the vastest out there and it's even considered a State treasure by many." Falman's lips tugged to a small smile. "With a little search, I can find his address too, if you like."

Beregond stared at the warrant officer for many long moments in amazement before grinning broadly. "I would very much like it indeed."

"Then it's settled!" Roy declared. He raised his glass. "Here's to good fortune on our goals!" he announced, a pleasing smile brightening his features.

"Hear! Hear! I'll drink to that!" everyone said, also raising their glasses in cheers. As for Beregond, he locked his gaze on Roy. He couldn't help but notice a strange glint in the man's eyes as he actually looked back at the Gondorian.

Beregond understood. Roy hadn't forgotten about their talk on the Ishbalans – and their language – and he was now in this way offering a chance for the Gondorian to take his investigation a little further.

_Edward was right,_ the Gondorian thought. _Roy is quite the shrewd man, keeping his eyes on everything and everyone._

Slightly and discreetly, he raised his glass a little higher and nodded. It was true Edward certainly kept getting miffed by that kind of ability of the Colonel's, feeling as though being spied on. Beregond, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel respect.

Roy's only response was a ghost of a smile, which Beregond reciprocated. Then, both men took a gulp of their drinks as though no silent conversation was ever exchanged between them.

"Oh… and just so you know, Fuery," Beregond said after wiping some of the ale from his lips with the back of his hand, "I can always teach you Sindarin, if you like. I wouldn't want you to kill anyone."

Fuery chuckled and straightened his glasses. "Good. But, by the way, I think I already know what 'aphado nín' means. It took me over an hour to make a particularly obedient horse to stop following me around!"

Everyone laughed out loud at that. As for Roy, he signalled the waitress to bring a second round of drinks on the table.

------------------

"You've arrived quite early today," Lust noted. She was sitting on a bench at an isolated park, a regular rendezvous point of her and Envy's. "I hope you have good news."

"It's _very_ good," Envy said, grinning broadly. He held up some papers for Lust to see. "These are the last pages from the sergeant's journal."

"Are you sure you copied them correctly?" Lust asked.

"What's the matter? Don't you trust me anymore?" Envy answered. He handed the papers to the other homunculus. "They're correct down to the last dot, just like the others I've been giving you these last five days."

Lust merely sighed and looked at the papers thoughtfully. "I still think it would be best if we just took the journal itself."

But Envy shook his head. "It would be too risky. The sergeant is already aware that something's up with that missing file of his. Speaking of which, did you finish reading it?"

Lust nodded. "I have. I can't say that I've understood too much about it though. It's just the finer details of a painting, yet we're still missing the picture, if you know what I mean. Even the Fullmetal boy seemed to think so. Did you read his last entry of the thing?"

"Yeah, I did. '_I_ still _have the nagging feeling that, for every answer we get, there are at least a dozen more questions that pop up._'" Envy put a leg up on the bench and rested both elbows on the bent knee as he contemplated matters. "Nevertheless, he seemed willing enough to accept his help and suggestions when they went to find Marcoh – and you know how the shrimp normally reacts when it comes to receiving help from anyone else than his brother, right? And there's something else… there was a lieutenant who referred to him as Gondorian."

"There are no such people named like that," Lust said.

"No kidding," Envy replied. "All the more reason we should get to the bottom of this and see how we can use it to our advantage."

"I never said otherwise, Envy," Lust said. "I just hope that you _were_ able to gain some answers with that little spying work of yours."

"We will be able to find that out as soon as you go to her."

Lust sighed. "Very well. But you had better go to Central and keep an eye on Gluttony. You know what that appetite of his is."

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry about it." Envy said, waving his hand dismissively. "I'll just make sure the sergeant's pet suddenly goes missing."

"I don't care how you do it, as long as you're done with it," Lust said, a hand pushing back a strand of hair behind her ear in slight irritation. "I'll catch up with you as soon as _she_ finds out anything."

"You'd better," Envy said. And with that, he changed to the form of a giant dog and ran off.

He had to play the part of a cute fluffy pet one last time, after all.

TBC…


	11. Many Meetings

The Elric Brothers had worked hard for a week. They had hardly taken any breaks, except to look into some essential needs; they had kept reading the papers again and again, even memorising them; they had looked for any hidden meanings and symbols, and they had tried any theories they could come up with on paper.

Yet there were no results except for two things: exhaustion for both brothers and a splitting headache for Edward.

"This code is too damn hard to break," Ed murmured. His head drooped and his pen was ready to fall off his tired fingers, a sign that the teen alchemist was drained.

"Brother," ventured Alphonse, his own voice drawn, "We should just ask Dr. Marcoh…"

Even in his current condition, Ed managed to snarl in indignation. "No way! He'd just say: 'You don't have the right to learn the truth of the philosopher's stone if you can't solve something as simple as this! We'll solve this by ourselves no matter what!"

But it seemed that he had wasted all his remaining strength for that small outburst, because his head collided with the table at the next moment. "I just don't get this," he mumbled, his tone implying that he was even ready to cry in frustration.

"Excuse me."

It was Bloch who said that last sentence. Indeed, the sergeant had in the meantime come in, followed by a young woman with glasses who somehow felt obliged to bow every few steps.

"Scieszka?" Al said before he could help himself.

Scieszka nodded slightly and then bowed again. "I heard you two were here and…" she paused momentarily, clearly trying to find the courage to speak. "Mr. Edward, thanks to you, I was able to put my mother in a wonderful hospital. I don't know how to thank you."

"I told you it was okay," Ed merely said.

Scieszka didn't speak for a few moments, her gaze drifting from the piles of papers and notebooks to the Fullmetal Alchemist's pale face. She looked at the brothers, concerned. "Maybe I shouldn't have given you that much."

Edward waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, we're fine. And when you think about how much this data was worth, what we gave you was actually little."

Scieszka blinked a bit, a small blush creeping on her cheeks. "Oh… So those recipes were important after all."

Ed and Al nodded.

"Have you managed to decode them?"

Neither of the brothers answered. Ed's face, in particular, carried now a somewhat pained expression.

"I see," Scieszka said.

"And you?" Al asked then. "Did you find a job?"

Now it was the girl's turn to carry a pained expression. But that soon vanished and she even smiled a bit.

"Well, it's time for me to leave. Again, thank you very much."

"I told you not to worry about the money," Ed said once more.

"It's not just the money," Scieszka replied. "I'm happy that a useless human being that can only read a lot could help out – so thank you."

Al shook his head. "You're _not_ a useless human being. I think that trying your best to do something is by itself a talent."

Ed looked a bit at his brother in a curious manner before turning to Scieszka and nodding too. "Al is right. You should be proud to have an incredible memory."

The girl almost beamed at such kind words. "Thank you!"

Just then, the door opened again and a very familiar bespectacled man walked in with a huge grin on his face. "Yo!"

"Hughes!" Ed exclaimed, surprised.

"What are you doing here, Sir?" Al asked, just as startled.

"I heard from Major Armstrong a few days ago. Jeez, I told you guys to holler if you popped by Central!"

Ed blushed guiltily. "We were sort of busy," he mumbled.

Maes laughed. "Yeah, I was busy too and couldn't get away from work." But at the next moment, he had sobered dramatically. "Lately, there have been a load of crimes. The military tribunal I'm in has been bustling."

Neither Maes nor the Brothers noticed a very surprised Sergeant Bloch conversing in low tones with Lieutenant Ross.

"He's talking casually to Lieutenant Colonel Hughes!"

"I know!" Ross said. "Just who are these kids?"

Meanwhile, Al kept staring at Maes incredulously. "Did you come here just so to visit us when you were so busy?"

Maes grinned once again. "Nah, I needed the break anyway, don't worry about it. I'll go back to work soon – _after_ I run a little errand for a mutual friend of ours." He leaned closer as though about to reveal a secret. "A certain _foreign_ friend of ours."

Ed's eyes widened as the young alchemist understood about whom Hughes was talking. "You mean Beregond? What did he want?"

"To send his regards. He misses you."

Ed's heart warmed at this and, before he could help it, a ghost of a smile crossed his features.

"How is he?" Al asked excitedly, more than happy to hear news of the Gondorian.

"He said he was fine," Maes answered.

Ed would have smiled at this if he hadn't registered the strange tone on Hughes' voice.

"And he _is_ fine… isn't he?" he asked in mild concern.

Maes sighed a bit and shook his head. "Roy told me some time ago that he's been doing his own share of research back in East City. He spends hours at the library to study, and he even borrows the books to read them at home when he can't stay in there. In fact, he wanted to talk to you about it at first chance."

"You don't know what it could be?" Al asked.

"Something about a theory of his, from what I gathered," Maes answered with a shrug. "Sarah Abbot will be able to tell you more about it, if you want to go and talk to her."

"Sarah…?" Ed wrung his mind to recall where he heard that name before, only to gasp in surprise. "The librarian? But she's in East City!"

"Not anymore," Hughes said. "She's been transferred here so to help organise things after that fire on the State Library's 1st Branch. That's how I got to hear from Beregond, actually. He asked me to help her find some comfortable lodgings for her and her daughter."

Ed sighed. "That fire really has made life difficult for several people, hasn't it?"

Maes nodded. "Tell me about it. The tribunal is close by, so I would store records of old cases and registries of names in that book collection. But now…" He didn't bother carrying on.

At that, however, Ed and Al instantly locked their gaze on Scieszka, who had been particularly quiet during that whole conversation.

The girl looked back at them, not really understanding. That is, until she finally caught on.

"EH?!" she pointed at herself, jaw slack.

Ed turned to Maes. "How about her, Hughes? She's looking for a job."

Scieszka tried to object. "I did read and can remember military detective records too, but…"

Maes's eyes widened. "What? This girl has that kind of ability?! That will definitely help!" He grabbed Scieszka by the wrist. "Let's start right away!"

"What--?!" she exclaimed, flabbergasted.

"We pay really well!"

"Really?!"

But Maes didn't bother with an answer. He was now practically dragging her away.

"Ex… Excuse me, you two!" Scieszka called at that moment, straining her neck to turn and get a glimpse of the brothers. "Thank you! I'll be more confident in myself and try my best! Thank you very much!"

And with a last "Thank you!", both she and the lieutenant colonel passed through the door and out of sight, while Ed and Al waved their own goodbye.

Ed couldn't help but snigger at the sight though.

"What is he, a kidnapper? That geezer…" he said, grinning. His gaze locked on Al, a mirthful expression still clinging on his face. "'Trying your best to do something is by itself a talent,'" he quoted. "Not bad, little brother."

Al rested his helmet on his palms. "I picked it up by looking at a certain somebody. That's what I felt from the bottom of my heart."

Ed felt a blush creeping treacherously on his cheeks. "Heh," he said finally. He picked up his pen again. "Anyway, that certain somebody is going to continue working."

And, for a few moments, there was only the sound of papers shuffling and the scratching of the pen against a notebook to be heard. Nonetheless, there was still something troubling Al.

"Brother?"

Ed looked up again. "Yeah, Al?"

"What do you think Beregond could be working on?"

Ed pondered on matters for some time. "I have no idea. It involves a lot of books, that's for certain."

"Should we talk to Mrs. Abbot about it?" Alphonse asked. "It could be something important."

Ed nodded. "We will. But after we finish with this thing, okay? I want to have the answer in our hands before we find Beregond again."

Al bowed his head slightly. "Okay, Brother."

Ed frowned at that kind of melancholic tone on Al's voice. He understood his brother's concern, he truly did; he felt the same way. But they were just a breath away from solving their problems and they certainly couldn't give up yet.

"Al, don't worry. All will be done in good time," he said.

And after a reluctant nod from Al's part, they both resumed work.

----------------------

"Beregond, this is the fifth time that I catch you falling behind!" Falman exclaimed huffily. Indeed, the Gondorian had stopped walking again, looking at some boxes and crates at an alley close by. "I'm telling you, there's no way your cat could have reached these parts of the city; they're too far for it!"

"I can always look, can't I?" Beregond said with a sigh. "It's been two days!"

"You heard what Fuery said, right? You're not the first guy whose pet ran off."

"Without a trace?" the other man insisted.

"Without a trace," Falman said. "Don't get yourself so worked up. It's a cat, after all. They can take care of themselves."

Beregond thought about it for a few moments. In the end, he nodded his defeat and walked up to Falman's side.

"So," he said, "Are we there yet?"

Falman shook his head. "According to the Colonel's directions, No. 132 should be that way." He looked at the piece of paper he had been holding, placed it back into his pocket and beckoned Beregond to follow him. Soon enough, they had found a large house with a gate, the number 132 engraved on a plaque just above an average adult's height.

"The professor actually lives here?" Beregond asked, looking at the house.

"Well, I don't know about Middle-earth, but professors are paid quite well here," Falman said, his tease subtle yet evident. "And remember, this guy has in his possession a whole selection of invaluable books. He needs the space to put them somewhere."

Beregond nodded his understanding. He scrutinised the gate from top to bottom, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "Why is there no guard or servant to open the door in such a place?"

Falman grinned. "There's no need for one. This is how we'll get in," he explained, pulling a thick cord that was hanging next to the gate.

Beregond looked bemused at the warrant officer and then back at the gate. He blinked once, twice, until he finally declared: "Nothing's happening."

"Just wait for it," Falman said. He regarded the Gondorian carefully, taking in his companion's posture. "Are you nervous?" he asked gently.

"A bit," Beregond admitted, shuffling his left leg on the gravelled ground. "Thank you for being here," he added, smiling a bit at Falman's direction.

"No problem," Falman said, a small smile brightening his own features. "I can't help feeling curious myself after our small revelation on that Friday night."

"Where will our curiosity lead us, I wonder…" Beregond said darkly. "A part of me feels that I should back out before it's too late."

"Too late for what?" Falman asked in a puzzled manner.

Beregond bowed his head, averting his gaze. "I wish I knew," he said in a soft tone. "But I know this. I _can't_ back out now, or I'll keep wondering and regretting it for ever."

There was nothing Falman could say to that except: "I understand."

It was then that the gate opened just slightly, but with enough noise to startle the Gondorian and make him jump back, sword in hand. Falman, on the other hand, just stepped inside, pushing the gate further open.

"Are you coming?" he asked his companion.

Beregond still looked at the gate suspiciously. "It's not going to close on any of my limbs, is it?"

"I'm holding the gate, aren't I?" Falman said, amused.

"Ah, right…" With that, the Gondorian gave one last look at the gate as though warning it not to get any funny ideas; then took three quick steps and entered inside too. He sheathed his sword back in its scabbard only when he heard the gate close behind him with a clinking sound.

"Intriguing. Just like the Dwarven gates," he commented.

"What?"

Beregond immediately shook his head at Falman's question. "Nothing. I was just remembering." And without exchanging another word, the two soldiers approached the large oaken entrance of the house, where someone was already expecting them.

"What can I do for you?" the young man asked politely.

"Begging your pardon, sir," said Vato. "I'm Warrant Officer Falman. I made a phone call earlier this morning in the hopes of speaking with Professor Syndow."

"Ah, yes, I remember. I'm his oldest son, Christopher; it was with me you spoke. Please, come in," said the young man, beckoning the soldiers inside. "May I ask what this is about?"

"It concerns your father's work about the ancient world," Falman said. "The sergeant and I have taken an interest to it and we wished to talk to him about it."

"I would not expect the army to be interested in things of the past," Christopher mused.

"How so?" Beregond asked.

"They are always interested in the future; on how to evolve to kill better."

"Chris, that's enough, my boy."

All three turned at the voice of an elderly man, who was now walking down a set of stairs with the aid of a walking stick. Beregond locked his gaze on him, taking in the limping, careful steps which carried a robust, proud figure; the bright, intelligent eyes; the lines of age that gave that man a wizened look; his small, kindly smile and his lips holding between them a small wooden pipe. Beregond somehow knew that that man could only be John Ronald Syndow, exactly how the Gondorian had pictured him in his mind's eye.

"Are these the gentlemen that rang the doorbell?" Syndow asked his son, eyeing the soldiers curiously.

"Yes, father," Christopher answered.

"Well, don't just stand there!" the elderly man said with a mild chuckle. "Tell your mother to prepare something for them!" He turned to Falman and Beregond. "Do you have any preferences?"

Falman and Beregond looked at each other momentarily, embarrassed. "Tea will be fine," they both answered in the end.

"Ah, excellent!" Syndow said, his smile broadening. "You heard them, Chris. Tell her to bring the tea to my study."

The young man nodded first at his father and then at the soldiers. However, neither Falman nor Beregond missed the cold gaze directed at them before Chris went through another door and out of sight.

"I must apologise for my son's words. He has quite bitter notions about war and the military," Syndow said.

"It's perfectly fine," Falman said, nodding in reassurance.

"Nevertheless, he expressed some of my own thoughts as well," the elderly man said. He motioned his hand to the direction of what could only be his study. "I never thought I'd have the military at my doorstep again. If there's a war brewing, I'm afraid I've offered my services long ago."

Beregond felt surprised at this new information. However, that wasn't the case for Falman, whose next words were: "Not this time, Sir. The 14th division fought bravely and they're remembered in the military for their sacrifice in the prospect of disaster back in 1854. This time we ask for your services in the theoretical level."

"I believe I heard something of the like while you were talking to my son," Syndow replied. He stepped into the room and settled on the couch, showing the soldiers a couple of chairs where they could sit. "It's the details that elude me though."

Just then, an elderly woman with a tray appeared on the doorstep. Smiling a bit in greeting, she walked in the centre of the room where there was a small table and, after putting the tea in close reach for both guests and her husband, she was gone.

Only then did Falman speak again.

"It's common knowledge that myths hide within them a grain of historical truth. What we've been wondering is the nature of the historical truth within the collection of myths that you have been publishing these last five years." As both warrant officer and Gondorian settled on the chairs, the first nudged the latter discreetly, thus showing him that _that_ was _his_ cue. Understanding, yet wishing to approach the matter carefully, Beregond bid his time by taking the cup of tea in his hands and sipping some of the hot liquid.

"Um… well," he finally started, doing his best to conceal his nervous tone, "In your first book, the _Introduction_, you said that those books were products of a strenuous search that you conducted throughout the country of Amestris and recording the tales of storytellers."

Syndow raised an eyebrow, a pleased expression on his features. "You have done your homework, my good sir. I'm flattered."

Beregond managed a small smile. "Actually, what I've been wondering is if these kind of stories are solely the product of storytellers of Amestris. It has come to my attention that, throughout your books, some of the stories were written with the utmost detail, whereas others were sketched only briefly."

"Well, there's nothing surprising in that," Syndow said. "Stories are passed on from word of mouth, but not all of them. The only stories that are remembered are those that are closest to the common folk's heart. The others are forgotten bit by bit, until there's little left of them."

"Then how is it possible that that small fraction of them can still be remembered?"

Syndow laughed. "There's no secret to that. I'm not the only one throughout time who took an interest in collecting those myths, considering them important for the people's culture. On occasion, there have been attempts to preserve that kind of knowledge. A prime example are the monks of a religion called Christianity, who spent almost a lifetime during the dark ages of history to record as many works of literature as possible. Of course, books back then weren't made to last in the same way they do now. Many of those works were destroyed by time, as well as fires, humidity, ignorance of folk who considered them foolish - or even just plain negligence."

Beregond looked at Syndow intently. "But not all of them?"

Syndow nodded. "I tried to read as many of the books that have been saved as possible but, let us face it, none of them were intact. Even if they had been, those books are quite difficult to read."

"How so?" Beregond asked.

"Because of the language," Syndow answered. "The style is allusive and the ideas often seem remote and strange to modern perceptions, making them in this way only bed-time stories for children. And there is also something else."

"What?" The Gondorian felt himself tense up for some reason.

"It is quite difficult to explain. In simple terms, those stories do not deal with the countrymen of Amestris as you and I know it, but with forebears. That means that the historical period which is described in them goes centuries before the stories themselves were actually written."

"So, in other words, they describe a world and people that lived before history, or even prehistory for that matter," Falman said.

"Quite possibly."

"In the same way that the story of Atlantis does?" Falman asked.

Syndow didn't speak for several moments. "You could say that," he finally answered.

Falman frowned. "But it has been noted that there have been artifacts that don't belong in the era that can be considered history. Artifacts that many believe belong to the city of Atlantis, since they resemble items of many civilizations, yet match none of them."

"And so establishing the theory that a people by the name of Atlanteans became the forefathers of the people as we know them today?" Syndow said, a strange smile on his lips. "Yes, Warrant Officer Falman, I have studied that legend as well. All I can tell you is that there's no such thing as Atlantis."

Beregond and Falman's eyes widened at this. But Syndow chuckled.

"You misunderstood me. I don't believe that there has been a place with the name of Atlantis, but I do believe that there was a country that, truly enough, sunk. However, that country, through word of mouth, _acquired_ the name of Atlantis and even got the size of a continent. Time has a way of changing ideas by evolving them and adjusting them to the dominant notion of the society of each historical period, after all."

Falman nodded his understanding. On the other hand, Beregond's mind was in turmoil as the Gondorian considered Syndow's words carefully.

In his world, there was the Island of Númenor that sunk and it was no longer spoken among the people except as the Island of the Atalantë, the Downfallen.

In _this_ world, people told of a country that also sunk and eventually acquired the name of Atlantis, leaving open the probability that initially its name was something else entirely.

And then there were the stories of both worlds. They were so alike that it almost frightened Beregond.

But what dismayed Beregond the most was that, though he'd reached so many conclusions and revelations, he still couldn't see the answer.

Maybe because… he _was_ afraid of it.

Well, he couldn't afford to be afraid anymore.

"Professor Syndow," he said, holding his cup of tea tightly; "Is it possible for my friend and me to have a look at those stories?"

Syndow looked at the Gondorian, exhaling a puff of smoke as the pipe still lingered in his lips. "I could do that. But I should ask the reason for this kind of curiosity."

Beregond didn't answer at once. He let his right index finger trace the rim of his teacup for several moments.

"Sergeant?"

Falman was about to say something, but Beregond placed a hand over the warrant officer's to stop him.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Beregond said. "I simply wasn't sure from where to begin."

"And now?" Syndow asked calmly.

Beregond nodded. "I'm conducting a research of my own concerning those myths. Namely, I'm trying to find connections and common points between the myths of different countries."

"For what purpose?"

Beregond placed the cup down. "From what I understand, there's always a core of truth within the myths. But, if a lot of myths describe the same thing…"

"… then the chances that the events described are true - aside from the elements of the fantastic - increase dramatically," Syndow completed with a smile. "You're not the first to have reached that conclusion, sergeant. However, each country has many myths, each told differently and with many elements either added or omitted. It's quite a difficult task to decide which story hides a historical fact and which doesn't."

Beregond thought about it for a few moments. "I understand. Nevertheless, I want to have a look at them."

Syndow raised an eyebrow. "Judging by your eagerness, you already know what it is you're looking for."

But Beregond only shook his head. "Actually, Professor, I can only _suspect_ for the present. I will only know for certain when I look at everything you can give me."

"What is it you're looking for though?" Syndow said. "You have to understand that the stories you're asking me to show you are quite valuable to me – not to mention that they're invaluable to the Amestrian culture." There was a small pause. "I like to think it's a fair trade to tell me. It's an equivalent exchange, as alchemists always say."

It was quite an uneasy feeling for Beregond to feel cornered, yet he had to admit that Syndow was right; he couldn't merely show those things to just anyone.

The question was: _how_ could he tell him? At least not without revealing his secret about his world?

"It could be nothing," he finally said, "or everything."

And Beregond meant it. If his findings turned out to be just a very eerie coincidence, then he would simply suffer from disappointment for a couple of weeks and that would be that.

But if not…

"I see," Syndow said, cutting into the Gondorian's train of thought. The elderly man stood up and opened the door of his office.

Beregond's heart missed a beat and he was ready to turn to Falman, but Syndow spoke again.

"Give me a couple of days. I need to consider our conversation carefully. You already have my phone-number."

Beregond didn't know how to answer to that; so he only nodded.

"Thank you for your time, Professor. Have a good day," Falman said politely. And with that, he gave the signal to the Gondorian that they should leave.

------------------------

"So now we wait," Vato said, as he and Beregond took the road back to Headquarters. "You did well," he added, smiling a bit at the Gondorian's direction. "Syndow isn't the most open person out there. His willingness to at least consider matters is encouraging."

"Let us hope he considers matters on our favour," Beregond said thoughtfully. "If he does, will you be with me?"

Falman nodded. "I've already told you I'm curious myself. But next time we will go by car." He rubbed his legs with a small grunt. "This venture to find the house on foot was too tiring for me."

Beregond groaned inwardly. Why did it have to be cars?

-----------------------

Christopher Syndow looked first at the retreating forms of the soldiers through the window, and then at the direction of his father.

"Good thinking. That should put them off from their treasure hunting."

"Now, Chris, you know that not all people who come here are out on finding the so-called treasures of the ancient world."

"I don't see why else the military should be here though."

"Is that what you think? That the military is behind this search?" Syndow chuckled. "You have many things to learn about people yet, my boy. Didn't you notice something intriguing about the sergeant?"

"Apart from the fact that he avoided to tell you what exactly he was looking for, nothing," Christopher admitted.

"I wasn't talking about his talk; talk can be deceiving. The eyes… never."

Christopher looked at his father questioningly, not really understanding.

"He was ipleading/i for an answer. Like a man of faith who tries to find his way in the darkness of his existence and seeks for the light that will set him free."

"So… you are thinking of offering him that light?" asked Christopher, frowning slightly in an attempt to follow his father's train of thought.

But Syndow didn't reply. He just looked outside the window, lost in thought.

TBC…

* * *

_A/n:_ _And Beregond is getting one step closer to the answer. Whether he will like it or not, however... that's a different matter entirely..._


	12. Ad Arcana

Night fell swiftly, covering the mansion far in the south of Amestris in darkness. In fact, the only light that a passer-by would be able to see was shed by a small lamp in the main hall – where two women were talking in hushed whispers.

"You say he's a foreigner, yet not from any countries that we know?" asked one voice. Its croaking sound made it perfectly clear that it was an elderly woman that spoke.

"Yes. A Gondorian, whatever that means," answered the other voice. It was a younger woman's voice, and its depth hardly concealed its seductive quality. "According to the file, he was found by accident and he didn't have any knowledge of the language – or of anything else, for that matter."

A withered hand rubbed a wrinkled chin thoughtfully.

"Language, when need is pressing, can be learnt quickly enough," the old woman said. "But the only way one could learn alchemy at Edward Elric's level in nine months is to have seen the Gate." There was a small pause. "On the other hand, you said that Envy didn't manage to find out anything about a failed human transmutation."

Lust didn't bother to answer, for she understood perfectly well that none of what was said was directed at her. Her master was merely thinking.

There was again silence for a few moments as the old woman contemplated matters further, and then she spoke again.

"Give me the file for a moment, Lust. I want to see in what state he was when they found him."

Lust gave the woman the file obediently. However, the withered hands couldn't hold the file as firmly as the homunculus did; so a small piece of paper slipped through the numerous large ones and landed softly on the stone floor. The elderly woman picked it up, seeing that it was a photograph.

A photograph of a man.

"Is that him?" she asked Lust.

"Yes."

The old woman looked at the picture for many long moments, studying the man's features carefully.

"He seems young. Is it certain he is forty?"

"Yes, Dante."

The woman, Dante, looked again at the picture, lost in thought. "Intriguing… For some reason he should be familiar to me. Like I've seen his face somewhere before." She didn't speak again for some time. Finally, after making up her mind and with her eyes still locked on the photograph, she turned her back on Lust.

"I must look into this matter further. Meanwhile, go back to Central and keep supervising things in the laboratory."

"How will we hear from you?" asked Lust.

"Pride and Sloth will keep you informed," Dante said. "Besides, I think I'll need their services soon enough."

Before Lust could have the chance to ask what Dante had meant by that, another voice was heard down the corridor.

"Teacher?"

Dante huffed in dismay at once. "That girl knows when to pick the worst moment to interrupt." She turned to Lust. "Make sure she won't see you as you leave. I'll handle this."

"Why do you keep her around if she's such a nuisance?" Lust asked curiously.

"Even she will serve her purpose when the time comes. Now go."

Lust decided to comply and she stepped back into the shadows. Dante opened the door and looked outside.

"Yes, Lyra?"

"I thought I heard voices. Is everything all right?" asked a young brown-haired girl, looking at her teacher with respect.

"Of course it is, my apprentice. Now go back to bed, please."

Smiling cruelly to hear the mock friendliness in her mistress's voice, Lust opened the window and slid through it with the grace of a lady. As soon as she landed on the soft ground without the hint of a sound, she set off for the train station.

She had work to do.

--------------------

Falman and Beregond took their places opposite of Syndow in the latter's office once again and sipped some of the tea that had been served. And just like in their previous visit, the professor sat on his desk with a polite smile tugged on his lips, smoking his pipe.

"Sir, thank you for calling us; it was most kind of you," Falman said.

"Well, it's not my place to deny those who want my help when I believe they're worthy of it," Syndow said.

"Do you consider us worthy then?" Beregond asked, his eyes locked on the professor.

"You are here, are you not?" Syndow said, chuckling mildly. "However, I should tell you that I can't show you the original stories."

The soldiers frowned, unsure what to make of that statement.

"But I can," Syndow added in a mischievous manner, "show you copies of them. That is how you can actually study those archives without having to put them at risk. The thousand-year-old manuscripts are far too sensitive to the human touch, you see."

"Point taken," Beregond managed to say, recovering from his unpleasant shock.

"Excellent," Syndow declared. "Now, if you may." With a graceful motion of his hand, Syndow beckoned both men to another room, adjacent to the study.

Beregond looked around the room curiously – or rather, _tried_ to, because he was surrounded in blackness.

"Why is it so dark in here?" he asked.

"As I said, Sergeant, the manuscripts are sensitive," Syndow replied. "Don't worry, we'll be able to see soon enough." And with that, he flicked on the artificial light.

Beregond and Falman could only gape at the sheer size of the room, for it contained bookcases upon bookcases filled with books both old and new. There were files crammed with sheets of paper that appeared ready to be blown away at the slightest breeze. The soldiers even noticed bizarre, ancient-looking artifacts of various shapes and materials in every corner, as well as numerous drawings and illustrations hanging on the walls.

"It's incredible," Beregond murmured, his eyes wide-open.

"Your collection is rightly considered a national treasure," Falman said. He took a few steps forward, his gaze drifting at every direction in an attempt to catch sight of as many books as possible. "These aren't in the State Library."

"No," Syndow said with a smile. "It was worth all forty years I spent to gather them." He turned to the soldiers again. "Now, Sergeant, you said you wanted to read the stories, I believe. Where do you wish to start?"

Beregond looked around, indecisive for several moments. "I always say that the best option is to start from the beginning."

"Good choice," Syndow answered. Still using his cane as support, he went up to a shelf on his right to draw out a thin file and then motioned the soldiers to settle on a large desk nearby.

"There isn't much here," Falman commented, looking at the few papers in front of them.

"Yes, indeed. I've already told you that, ever since the notion of science started taking shape as we know it and shunned old beliefs, there were not many people who were interested in such… childish concepts anymore. This is one story that all but vanished because of that reason." He picked up a piece of paper and showed it to Beregond and Falman. "This is a transcript of a text chiselled on a black stone found in a cavern by some coal miners about thirty years ago. The discovery is quite unique, because the text is quite primitive - you can see for yourself. And though it's presumed to be 2,000 years old, there are many scholars who believe that the stone nevertheless provides a sample of the language that was used by Ancient Amestrians about _4,000_ years ago. Let me see if I can provide the translation for you, it's around here somewhere." Syndow started shuffling through the papers to find the right one. "It's quite intriguing. It seems to be the beginning of an epic, and--"

"_Hyathli khantete, makli lanthanete, i lūme galne aniåra ar i lambe thindē wektheo galne ar prestane_. Axe… something… swords fall… the time grows… longer?… and the language… of the Grey People… grows and changes. _Si-lūme Lotthinondo tektha sina an i rīna._ Now time... no, Now... Lothinondo... Lothenon?... writes this for the remembrance."

Falman and Syndow looked at Beregond almost flabbergasted. Beregond just half-shrugged embarrassedly.

"Well," the professor said in the end, "It seems that you didn't have difficulties, after all." He picked up the paper he had been looking for and read aloud: "Axes broke, swords fell, the times grew older and the languages of the Grey People grew and changed. Today Lothenon writes this for the memory."

Beregond nodded a bit thoughtfully. "It's as you said. It commemorates actions of forebears."

"But who are these Grey People?" asked Falman, feeling confused.

Syndow smiled. "Here's the beauty of it all. No one really knows. Of course, there are more than enough theories and, though they all seem to hold water, none of them is quite satisfactory. Some believe that they could be our ancestors – what we came to identify as Atlanteans, to be more precise. Others believe that they were an entirely different race of people which is now extinct; whereas others think that they were actually other entities entirely."

"Are there any illustrations that can give us a glimpse of that era?"

It was Beregond who asked that.

"Yes, there are," Syndow answered. "Not any that depict Grey People, mind you, but the one hanging on the wall behind you might still interest you."

Both soldiers turned and looked at the wall, where there really was a drawing of a tall knight, helmed and armed as though ready for battle. The pencil strokes did justice to the metallic sheen the armour was supposed to have, as well as to the pride in the said knight's countenance.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Syndow said. "This was drawn by a good friend of mine, based on the descriptions the texts provided."

"Intriguing," Falman said before he could help it. "On his breastplate there's the image of a tree and seven stars." His gaze locked on Beregond, but the Gondorian didn't seem to notice him. He had stepped closer to the drawing, looking at it with scrutiny - and a touch of apprehension.

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

Beregond pointed at the knight's shield. "What's with the symbol there?"

"The five-pointed star?" Syndow said. "It appears quite often throughout history, actually; even in many artifacts that have nothing to do with weapons or armoury."

"How so?" Falman asked.

"Because it represents many things, depending on the society and era in which it's present," Syndow explained. "In this case, it's quite safe to assume that its five points represented the five virtues that a knight was meant to embody: frankness, fellowship, purity, courtesy and compassion. Those, in their turn, are part of and form in the centre the ultimate virtue: Truth."

Falman didn't speak for several moments; his gaze simply drifted back on Beregond on instinct, noticing that the Gondorian was resting a hand on his chest for some reason.

But Beregond was far from satisfied.

"What else does it symbolise?"

"Like I said, it could be anything," Syndow replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "For example, in some cultures, its points represented the four basic elements: earth, water, fire and air, whereas the fifth point represented the spirit; in Xing, it's used as a symbol of health; in Drachma, as a symbol of death; whereas in Amestrian Alchemy…" Syndow paused for a moment. "…But I had better show you instead."

Feeling curious, the two soldiers followed Syndow to the opposite wall, where there was the drawing of a large five-pointed star, overlaid by the image of a man in a spread eagle position with his head and all limbs touching a matching point.

"This belonged to an ancestor of mine, a well-known alchemist of his time; it's a bit more than four hundred years old," Syndow said.

Beregond looked at the drawing for many long moments, not speaking; until he showed Syndow and Falman a tiny symbol next to one of the points of the star.

"This one is used in alchemy to denote water."

Falman raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," Beregond answered. "And this one is earth," he added, showing them a symbol close to the next point. Soon enough, he had pointed the other symbols as well, naming the elements they represented. "Spirit. Fire. Air." He looked at Syndow. "They are the very things you said some societies believed the five-pointed star signified. But I can't understand why the image of the man is here."

"Because my ancestor was a man that worked with many theories," the professor said. "He believed that there wasn't just one theory that spoke the truth, but many who spoke _part_ of the truth and it was only through their combination that we could get a glimpse of it as whole." He pointed at the drawing. "This is actually his attempt to relate man to nature, believing that the workings of the human body to be an analogy to the workings of the universe. One could say that he was making a cosmography of the microcosm. So, he symbolised Man's material existence by using the earth, fire, water and air symbols; his spiritual existence by using the symbol of the spirit; and, with the circle, he attempted to depict the correlation between these two aspects of human existence."

"So, in a way… your ancestor was claiming that Man wasn't only part of the universe, but could have power over it," Beregond said.

"Like a smaller god," Falman commented.

"Quite right," Syndow said with a nod.

Beregond looked again at the drawing. "The way the limbs form the circle… what if one doesn't need to clap their hands?" he murmured.

"I beg your pardon?" the professor asked, not quite catching that.

Falman, on the other hand, was now looking at Beregond with bated breath.

Beregond pretended not to hear the question. "This is quite interesting," he merely said. "I'm surprised it wasn't mentioned in any of the alchemical books I studied."

Syndow shook his head. "My ancestor was very distrustful when it came to sharing his theories. They say that he told of them to very few people, including his wife – and his mistress.

"That woman proved my ancestor's downfall. She reported him to the authorities and told of everything he had told her, calling him a madman and possessed by demons. My ancestor was arrested and hanged the very next day and his house was burned to the ground. As for my ancestor's wife, she left the country with her newborn child in her arms, after salvaging everything she could - including this drawing."

"I see. So his knowledge was lost except to those within the family."

"Indeed. And no one was interested about that in order to share that kind of knowledge. That is, until your arrival."

Beregond frowned. "If it was a family secret, why did you tell me this? What made the difference?"

The professor's eyes sparkled knowingly. "Because that symbol obviously means something to you too. May I ask what did your hand reach for at your chest?"

Beregond breathed in sharply and took an involuntary step backwards, looking nervously at Falman and Syndow. However, when Falman nodded in an encouraging manner, his expression softened.

"Equivalence…"

And with that, he tentatively reached for the pendant that still hanged from his neck even after all this time and showed it to the two men.

A golden pendant which had the carved image of a five-pointed star on it.

"Ah… I see," Syndow said softly. "Just like the knight in the drawing."

Beregond swallowed hard before saying with as much control as possible, "Yes… just like the knight in the drawing."

It was then that Falman looked at his watch and gave out a small whistle. He pressed his hand on Beregond's shoulder and then turned to Syndow, a small smile crossing his features.

"Professor, I'm very sorry to interrupt, but the sergeant and I must take your leave now. We are meant to be somewhere else in less than a quarter of an hour."

"Of course," Syndow said with a small consenting nod. "Let me show you to the door."

But Beregond didn't move yet, for another thought crossed his mind.

"Professor? Is it possible for the warrant officer and me to come back tomorrow?"

"If you wish it," Syndow said. "Do you want to discuss any further about the myths?"

"Yes… but this time I want to talk about the tale of the sunken city."

Syndow's eyes widened slightly, but his voice was calm when he said: "Very well. Until tomorrow then."

------------------------

Falman and Beregond took the road back to Headquarters, but they didn't speak to each other; they were too lost in thought. The only thing that could be heard were the birds singing in the bare trees of the little park they were presently walking through.

Even that sound was cut off when Beregond spoke.

"Vato?"

"Hm?" Falman said.

"Thanks."

The warrant officer finally caught on. "Well, you looked like you wanted to get away." He smiled a bit, but it was a smile that didn't last. "What was that about? What is that pendant?" he asked curiously.

But Beregond shook his head.

"Not here. You'll find out when I speak to the Colonel."

-----------------------------

"From your home?" Mustang asked, looking at Falman and Beregond with a raised eyebrow - the two soldiers were now sitting on a couple of chairs in his office.

Beregond nodded. "It belonged to the murderer of my son." His voice came out uneasily and uncomfortably, his right hand tugging in a nervous manner at the pendant. "It was in my hand when I was… _brought_… here."

Mustang interlaced his fingers and leant slightly forward. "Do you think there's a connection?"

"I don't know," Beregond said, gaze wavering. "If there is, I don't see what it can be exactly. But…" He paused, as though trying to find the correct words. "But there's something you should see."

Feeling Mustang and Falman's gaze still locked on him, Beregond pulled a piece of paper from his journal and a pen from his pocket to draw a circle with a five-pointed star inside it.

"Syndow said that this is a symbol with many interpretations." Beregond said, showing his drawing to Roy and Vato. "It can symbolise a knight's virtues; or the elements of nature; or Man's power over the world; or health; or death. Now… an idea would be to do what Syndow's ancestor attempted."

"You mean combine the theories?" Falman asked.

Beregond nodded at the warrant officer's direction. "That is where the truth lies, according to him."

"But there are numerous combinations, Sergeant Beregond. From where should you start?" Roy said.

"That's just it. I already have one in mind."

Falman gaped incredulously. "You--?"

"Look," Beregond said, holding up the piece of paper and beckoning the two men to come closer. "We have the five-pointed star and the circle. I'll put the symbols of water, earth, spirit, fire and air close to each point. So far so good?"

Both Falman and Mustang nodded.

"Now… what if I put names on those elements?"

And before either of the men could answer that, he had already put five names. They were names neither the warrant officer nor the colonel could possibly recognise, because they were written in a language they didn't know – Beregond's language.

"Ulmo for water; Yavanna for earth; Fëanturi for spirit; Aulë for fire; and Manwë for air. And…" Beregond said in a murmur and wrote one final name before drawing a small arrow to point the star. "Varda." He turned to the other two men to explain matters. "They are the most revered of the Valar in Middle-earth, and they are all children of Ilúvatar, the One. They derived from his thought, which also makes them a part of him. However…" And at that he locked his gaze on Mustang, "Do you remember what I had told you about Ilúvatar, Sir?"

"Yes," Roy answered. "You had reached the conclusion that your God is equivalent to this world's Truth, the true knowledge behind this world's workings; the alchemist's main goal."

"Right," Beregond said. He pointed again at the sketch. "Do you see the pattern now?"

Both Falman and Mustang looked at the drawing again, thoughtfully. In end, it was Roy who came up with the answer.

"You've just created a symbol with a dual meaning. If we take it from your people's point of view, this is a symbol of your world's universe. Ilúvatar is the source of the rest of the Valar; he is part of the Valar and vice-versa, whereas the circle shows that they are, nevertheless, whole. On the other hand, if we look at it from an alchemist's point of view, the Truth is the source of all the elements, being part of them and vice-versa, yet still as one."

Beregond nodded. "And… if we put the image of a man on it…"

"It means that people, whether we talk about Children of Ilúvatar in Middle-earth or Men in Amestris, are created by the same source of knowledge and force of creation and are part of it – as the force of creation is part of them," Falman said at once, catching on.

"Exactly. Alchemists – or Wizards and Elves, in my world – are the best example of that. One is all; all is one," Beregond said.

Falman frowned now.

"It's something that Edward and Alphonse kept telling me during our Alchemy lessons – a riddle," Beregond explained. "I had figured it out quickly enough, but now I see this goes beyond the limits of this world. It encircles both yours and mine."

"But what does that mean?" Vato asked.

"It means, Falman, that the sergeant has found what appears to be proof to a theory of his: if the same force is behind the creation of both worlds, then there's a similar pattern in both of them," Roy said. "But, Sergeant Beregond, you had also told me that you were ready to take this theory further."

Beregond nodded. "I believe, now more than ever, that both worlds were meant to be identical. However, as one world accepted Alchemy and the other didn't, they finally came to take different routes in the course of history."

There was silence as soon as the Gondorian uttered those words.

"I know it sounds crazy," Beregond finally said. Becoming agitated, he stood up and started pacing the room. "But the more I see it, the more I admit that it's the only thing which makes sense. There are the myths, the Ishbalan's language, Syndow's documents and the forces of nature to be considered. If I were something completely different from an Amestrian, then it would be logical that I wouldn't be able to perform alchemy. On the other hand, the thing that I identified as magic in my world can be considered a form of alchemy. I happen to know a Wizard who controls fire, much like you, Sir. And then there are the Gates. What I call Gates of Mandos, Edward identifies it as the gate of Truth."

Roy and Falman's eyes widened, something that made Beregond bite his lip. It was too late though.

"I see you weren't aware of that," he said softly.

"So the gate you've passed though… Fullmetal has seen it?" Mustang asked.

The Gondorian nodded again. "And I know for a fact that it's the same thing, since both our descriptions of it were alike."

"But," Falman reasoned, "if the worlds were meant to be identical, why aren't there any Elves, Dwarves and Hobbits here as well?"

"Falman," Beregond said then, his expression dead-serious. "Do you remember what you asked back at Syndow's place? About the Grey People in that story the professor showed us?"

Vato nodded, uncertain as to where Beregond was getting with this.

"Grey People is another name for Elves." There was again stunned silence for many moments, until Beregond broke it. "That means that there were such things once, even though they now only exist through myths and fairy-tales."

"Nevertheless, I should point out that not all the myths and fairy tales are identical to your people's, Sergeant," Roy said.

"I know. Still, for some reason, they're quite similar up to one point: the tale of the Sunken City."

Falman's eyes opened wide in realisation. "That's why you asked Syndow to show you that tale."

"Yes. It's an important event in my world because it marked a time when the shape of our world changed forever. If it's mentioned in this world as well, it means that it signifies a great change as well. The most logical explanation would be that it was about then that the Amestris world accepted Alchemy as science. Or…"

But Beregond froze mid-sentence and didn't carry on.

"Or the other way around – your world denounced it," Roy said, wishing to complete the sentence for the Gondorian.

He certainly didn't expect Beregond to pale, a horrified expression getting etched in his features.

Roy and Falman looked at the man in surprise. "Beregond?"

If the Gondorian ever tried to say anything in answer, he never managed it. He lifted his right hand, his index finger twitching slightly as though he was writing something in an invisible blackboard. And to Roy and Falman's alarm, Beregond looked now as though he was about to faint.

At the next moment, Roy had grabbed Beregond from the shoulders and shaken him.

"Sergeant!"

Beregond blinked and looked at Roy and Vato like he was snapped out of a trance. He swallowed hard; then released a breath that, apparently, hadn't realised he had been holding all this time. As the air escaped his lungs, it seemed as though his strength was drained out of his system as well, because his shoulders had slumped forward and his legs were ready to buckle from underneath him.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he said, his voice coming out hoarse and weak.

"What is it?" Roy asked in concern.

Beregond sighed. His gaze dropped and he didn't even try to look at the two men in the eye.

"Another guess as to what event it could be. May I take your leave now?"

Roy frowned at this, but he finally deemed not to pursue the matter any further.

"Very well. You may go."

The Gondorian nodded slightly and headed for the door. Just when he placed a hand on the doorknob, he stopped on his tracks.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Sergeant?" Roy asked calmly.

"I'll come with my report right about this time."

And with that he was gone.

However, Falman had remained behind. And now he was looking at his superior in wonder.

"What was that about?"

"You heard him, Falman. It's another guess. One that shook his very core and he doesn't want to prove correct," Roy answered, taking his place behind his desk again.

"But what could it be?" Falman insisted.

"I guess we'll find out when the time comes," Roy said with a sigh. "Will 2nd Lieutenant Havoc drive you to the professor's house tomorrow?

Falman nodded. "That was our intention, Sir."

"In that case, ask him to stay with you until you're done with your visit at Syndow's house."

"Sir?"

"I wish for your and sergeant Beregond's report here as soon as possible," Mustang explained. "And… I want you and Havoc to keep an eye on Beregond. Something tells me you'll have to."

Falman nodded his understanding. He exited the office, while Mustang started looking into his paperwork once more, even though his mind wasn't into the particular task.

--------------------------

That night, Beregond didn't go home. He stayed in his office, looking at books and writing fervently in his journal.

_Calculating_ something, to be precise. And once he had finished and verified all his figures, he let out another sigh and just lied on the couch nearby, an arm over his face as he desperately tried to think.

Or rather… not to.

It was there that troubled sleep finally claimed him.

TBC…

_A/n__: This chapter was mainly based on this page: http: //en. wikipedia. org/ wiki/ Pentagram (just remove the spaces)_

_The primitive Sindarin can be located here: http: //www. elvish. org/ gwaith/ old_sindarin. Htm (again, just remove the spaces)_


	13. The Sunken City

The first thought that entered Beregond's mind was that ithat/i wasn't right.

In fact, that wasn't right _at all._

He was on a shore. He didn't know how he got there and he couldn't afford to understand what had happened anyway. He just stared dumbly at the darkened sky, aware that there was hail bucketing down around him and a wind so violent that it sounded like howling.

What was more surprising was that he didn't feel wetness or cold. In fact, he felt nothing, like his entire body had grown numb.

Suddenly, a crashing sound reached his ears above the cawing of sea-gulls. Beregond turned to the source of the sound, and what he saw proved both impressive and terrifying all at once: a great eagle-shaped cloud coming out of the west, its pinions spreading to the north and south.

Another crashing sound followed and Beregond looked upwards again. To his amazement, he could now see several real eagles flying high above, bearing lightning beneath their wings.

They were _Manwë's_ eagles. Beregond was sure of it, even though he couldn't understand why they were there.

Then thunder echoed between the sea and the clouds, and Beregond felt it as if it reverberated through his very core.

A great sense of foreboding seized him and he was aware he had to act quickly if he wanted to prevent something terrible from happening. He tried to will himself to run but, for some reason, his body was moving on its own accord. Indeed, it seemed as though he was walking, but he wasn't sure of that either, because he couldn't feel his legs actually touching the ground.

Nevertheless, at the next moment, he found himself in a city with buildings made out of white marble. And though Beregond had never seen that city before, he was certain it should be familiar to him.

A woman passed by him and Beregond tried to address her and ask where he was and what was happening, but no words came out of his lips. He tried to turn around and speak to her again, but it was of no use; his body still moved on.

Then lightning started to fall. Every time that the darkness was obliterated by those brief flashes of light, Beregond could easily hear the screams of men getting slain, but he walked on. In fact, he walked on even when he headed to the direction of a fiery bolt that crashed a couple of miles away from him; even when a large groaning sound came out of the depths of the earth, a sign that the ground was shaking violently.

Even when he reached a mighty temple whose large dome was flaming, broken asunder.

_No… it couldn't be._

But when he reached to the inside of the temple and witnessed people paying respect to a man who looked fair but felt foul, Beregond could only admit that his suspicions were true. He _was_ in the Island of Númenor.

The question was: how?

He looked at his surroundings fearfully, feeling like a pilgrim in an unholy land; no one seemed to notice Beregond though. They simply remained standing in the centre of the great hall where a circle with symbols was etched on the ground, praying to their new god, Sauron, and asking him to offer them immortality.

But Beregond's heart was truly filled with horror and disgust when two old men dragged a young boy forward and cut his throat without so much as a second thought. The image of a dead Bergil penetrated the soldier's mind and he had to look away as soon as the floor was covered in blood.

And yet… there was another feeling that proved even stronger at that moment. With his curiosity prevailing, he drifted his gaze back at the centre of the hall and looked carefully at the circle.

It was an array; very much like the one back at Dûrinas's hideout, to be exact. Outraged, Beregond opened his lips in the hopes of making the fools stop, but he never got the chance. A great roar reached his ears, almost deafening him.

He knew what that sound was.

The waves were coming.

Beregond did the only thing he _could_ do. His body complying once again, he ran as fast as his feet could carry him to the highest point of the Island. He didn't dare to look back, for he knew that he would only see the terrible sea-green cloak which would cover the Island forever in darkness.

The climb was difficult, but he finally reached the peak. However, the last thing he saw were the five corners of the island.

_Wake up!_

And then the great wave towered over him.

_Come on, wake up!_

Beregond was happy to obey that voice that seemed to have sounded out of nowhere. He mentally yanked himself away from that horrific dream and opened his eyes to see a familiar face hovering over him.

"Havoc?" Beregond looked around just to make sure he wasn't still dreaming.

He wasn't; he was in his office, lying on the couch. Even so, he could hardly breathe, and his heart was beating wildly as though he _had_ been running. He winced when he noticed Havoc's concerned look, but he couldn't really blame the second lieutenant. It must have been shocking for him to walk in and find the Gondorian in such a state.

"Nightmare," Beregond finally offered as an explanation. He sat up and smiled faintly in an attempt to play down matters.

"I kind of noticed that," Havoc said. He picked up a glass of water he had on the small table nearby and gave it to Beregond. "Here."

Beregond took the glass with a brief "Thanks"… then emptied the contents on his head.

Havoc blinked. "I gave it to you so you would _drink_ it."

"This works just fine too," Beregond said. He shook his head to rid the excess water off his hair. "What time is it?"

"Close to nine o' clock," Havoc answered. "And time for me to take you to Syndow."

"Is Falman here?" Beregond asked.

"He's already waiting in the car."

"Oh." There was a small pause. "Then we should go, I guess."

"Yeah."

Still, Beregond didn't stand up.

"Hey…"

Havoc's voice was so soft at that moment that Beregond locked his eyes on the lieutenant.

"Are you okay?" Havoc asked, his concern once again clear on his features.

But Beregond didn't answer. He just averted his gaze, hoping that Havoc would take the hint and drop the subject.

Havoc didn't - or rather, he decided to ignore it.

"Does it have to do with what happened at the Colonel's office yesterday?"

The Gondorian's tension must have been quite evident, because Havoc's next words were: "Falman told me about it."

Beregond realised that there was no point in evading the question anymore, so he nodded. Havoc sighed and was about to say something, but Beregond didn't let him.

"We _should_ go," he reminded the second lieutenant.

Havoc looked at the Gondorian's eyes briefly. Beregond wasn't sure what the other man saw there, but it seemed to satisfy him enough to stand up and say: "Then let's go."

"And we will," Beregond said. "But we'll have to stop by from my house first."

Havoc frowned at this. "Why?"

"There's something that I want to get from there."

And Beregond left it at that.

* * *

As usual, the tribunal was buzzing with life that morning, and all officers and personnel were doing their best to keep up with the work they were handed. Unfortunately, this was easier said than done, because everyone was already exhausted - including Lieutenant Colonel Hughes and Scieszka.

That was why Maes sounded so tired when he answered the knock on the door of his office.

"Come."

At that command, a tall, black-haired woman came in and nodded slightly in greeting. It was Sarah Abbot.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. The head librarian said that you had some files you wished to have stored at the library."

"Oh, yes, that's right," Maes said. He turned to his secretary. "Where did you put the files that you've already completed, Scieszka?"

The girl rubbed her eyes and straightened her back, a creaking sound emanating from her body after stooping over the documents for so long. "I have them over here, Sir," she said and handed Hughes a pile of folders.

"Good," Maes said and passed the files to Sarah. "Make sure they're placed in chronological order, please."

"I will." And with that, Sarah headed for the door.

However, it seemed Hughes was far from finished.

"Mrs. Abbot, there's also something else that I wanted to discuss with you."

"Oh?" Sarah said. She stopped on her tracks and looked at him quizzically.

"Yes," Hughes replied, looking quite serious. "I've noticed that your daughter and Elysia have become quite good friends. In fact, they play together almost every day. That brings me to the conclusion that…" and, in a flash, his eyes seemed to light up and sparkle, "you and Alice just _have_ to come to my little girl's birthday! She's turning four, you know. Gracia will make the cake and Elysia already said she would blow the candles by herself! Isn't that the cutest thing you've ever heard?"

He didn't seem to notice how embarrassed Scieszka and Sarah looked while he still rambled on about Elysia's birthday. What was worse, it seemed that all his weariness had vanished into thin air, so there was no possible way to make the man istop/i.

In the end, it was Sarah who finally decided to put an end to this – as subtly as possible.

"Well, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, I could not possibly refuse an invitation like that," she said with a smile and quite careful with her choice of words. "However, if I'm to bring Alice on Elysia's birthday, then I should most definitely buy a present, too. That means I had better go back to work – the sooner I'm done with it, the sooner I'll go and get something."

Hughes stopped at once. "Of course, I shouldn't be keeping you here! I hope work doesn't prove too difficult!"

"In this line of work, you just have to handle all kinds of challenges," Sarah said with a chuckle. "I'll come back later for the other files."

She was gone in an instant, doing her best not to seem as though she was _running away_.

Hughes just waved goodbye, the happy grin still plastered on his face. "What a charming lady. I wonder if Roy would have liked dating her…" he mused.

He suddenly slapped his forehead, because it was then that he realised something very important.

"I forgot the pictures!" he declared mournfully. Truly enough, he had on his pocket his most recent pictures of Elysia – but he had forgotten as of yet to show them to anyone else! He groaned, unable to believe that he could be so negligent.

But then he noticed Scieszka, who was once again stooped over her work, and his lips tugged to a grin again.

All wasn't lost yet.

He didn't have his chance to do anything though. At that moment, another one of his subordinates came in, holding a pack of files which was blackened and in a terrible condition all in all.

"Sir, we have a problem," he said. "This is what was saved from the files which contained the names of the criminals who were under death sentence and executed."

Maes frowned as he looked at the folders. "Man, the fire did quite the number on them. And I don't suppose there were any copies of those, right?"

"No, sir."

Maes huffed slightly, dismayed by this turn of events. However, his features brightened when an idea formed in his mind.

"Go to the buildings of "Central Times". They keep a record of their printed newspapers, so there should be news of each conviction and execution there. Take someone with you and ask for Thaddeus Gray. He will be able to help you out."

"Will do, Sir," said the young soldier and walked out.

But Maes didn't resume with his work at once. Scratching the back of his neck, he turned again to Scieszka with a thoughtful look.

"Wanna take five?"

Scieszka nodded.

"Right, go get yourself some tea to clear your head and bring some for me on your way back."

"Okay, Mr. Hughes," Scieszka said with a small smile, and she exited too.

Thus she gave Maes the chance to make his usual weekly call.

* * *

When the phone rang in his office, Roy suspected who it could be calling him. He picked up the receiver.

"This is Colonel Roy Mustang speaking."

"Hey, buddy! Swarmed in paperwork?"

Roy sighed, realising that he was right in his assumptions. "Yes, so I'd rather I carried on with it, or I will have to face the wrath of a certain lieutenant." He locked his gaze on the door in alarm, almost expecting Hawkeye to burst into the office and start shooting at him for loafing around like that.

"But I wanted to tell you about Elysia's birthday! Do you know that it's in a few days' time?"

"And phoning me for _that_ is absolutely out of the question!" Roy exclaimed through gritted teeth.

"Now I'm hurt," Maes said in mock distress. "Then I guess I'll have to tell you some other time. Now I wanted to tell you something else: Guess who I ran into two days ago."

Roy rubbed his temples. "Just go ahead and say it, Maes."

"All right," Hughes said. "Fawcette."

Roy let out an exasperated huff. "That is hardly news, Hughes. I had already told you that Connors sent him to Central."

"That's not the news, Roy," Maes said, now quite serious. "I first bumped into him at the library and then at the tribunal. I don't think I need to tell you that he was looking for something."

"And _I_ don't think I need to guess what that something is," Roy said. "This guy just doesn't give up."

"Bah, good luck, that's what I say," Maes chuckled. "Beregond is safe."

"Still, I want you to keep an eye on Fawcette," Roy said. "You know his habit of creating what he can't find."

"Yeah, don't worry. It will be difficult though. I'm kinda drowning in paperwork myself."

"You'll think of something. You always do."

"I take that as a compliment," Maes said, his grin audible in his voice. "Speaking of which, what about Beregond? Is he still doing that research of his?"

Roy hesitated to answer for a moment, uncertain as to what to say.

"He's concluding it today," he replied in the end.

"And?"

"I can tell you that: he's found something. But now I think he wishes he hadn't."

* * *

"ACHOO!"

Havoc and Falman almost jumped at the sound of the loud sneeze that practically reverberated through the car.

"Whoa! What was that?!" Havoc exclaimed, looking only briefly at Beregond's direction – Havoc was driving, after all.

Beregond sniffed slightly and resumed with his staring back at the ceiling of the car. "Sorry. I think I'm getting down with something," he said.

"Really?" The lieutenant smiled knowingly and returned his gaze back on the road. "Or maybe your ears are just burning."

"What?" Clearly surprised, Beregond touched his ears apprehensively. "They're fine… I think."

"It's an expression," Falman said, laughing. "It means somebody is either thinking of or talking about you."

"But what does that have to do with me sneezing?" Beregond asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's the same thing," Falman answered.

Beregond blinked. "So sneezing and burning ears aren't just considered symptoms of cold, they also mean you're the subject of gossip?"

"Well… yes," Falman said.

Beregond didn't speak for some time, obviously taking in what Falman said for a few moments. In the end, he laughed and waved his hand dismissively.

"Yeah, right. And I suppose when I got myself pneumonia when I was a kid meant that the whole city of Minas Tirith was buzzing about me."

Havoc and Falman didn't have anything to say to that. They merely shook their heads with a smile, for they were relieved to see that Beregond was back to his cheerful self.

On the other hand though… they weren't sure if that wasn't a façade so that Beregond could hide how troubled he had become since the day before.

Plus, they were both dying to find out what was in that large bag that was now next to Beregond's legs.

If Beregond noticed the looks the lieutenant and the warrant officer kept exchanging as they shared those thoughts, he didn't show it.

Soon enough, they had reached Syndow's mansion. Havoc parked the car and, once they were welcomed inside, the lieutenant said that he would wait at the foyer. However, Falman and Beregond, who had swung his bag over his shoulder in the meantime, continued onto Syndow's study.

The professor was already there, his pipe lingering in his mouth as always.

"You've arrived on time," he commented, a strange expression on his face. He pointed at several files on his desk. "Here I have everything that's related to the tale of the Sunken City, from descriptions of it to theories about the fate of its inhabitants after it was destroyed." He rested his form on his cane and looked at the two soldiers. "So… from where do you wish us to begin?"

Surprisingly enough, Beregond shook his head.

"About that, Professor… I don't want to look at the documents anymore."

Syndow and Falman looked at the Gondorian, dumbfounded.

"You don't? Then how--?" Falman started.

"The professor has been more than just kind to share a family secret of his," Beregond explained, not letting Falman to continue. "It's time I returned that kindness with the same trust he showed me."

Falman understood. "Are you sure of this?" he asked simply.

Beregond nodded.

"Then go ahead." And with that, Falman took a couple of steps backs and allowed Beregond some space.

"What is going on?" Syndow asked, quite puzzled.

"Professor Syndow," Beregond began, "Yesterday you showed us an illustration of a knight, who had on his breastplate the image of a tree and seven stars. And you also told us that that illustration was based on the ancient writings you showed us."

"Indeed, I said that."

Beregond straightened his back, looking back proudly at the elderly man. "What if I told you that that image of the tree and the stars belonged to _my_ world as well?"

There was silence for several moments, during which Syndow looked at Beregond as though he was utterly mad.

"Your _world?!_" he exclaimed. "What in the bloody hell are you talking about?!"

"Professor Syndow, please, calm down," Falman said, raising a hand in a gesture of peace. "Trust me, I realise that what the sergeant said just now sounds too incredible, but --"

"Too incredible?! Down right lunacy, that's what it sounds like!" Syndow interrupted angrily. "Have you come here to mock me with lies and tall tales?"

"Pedon na-erui thenid, golwen." (I only speak truth, professor)

Syndow froze as the words reached his ears. He stared incredulously at the Gondorian.

"That language…" he faltered. "It sounds a bit like… that text..."

But Beregond didn't answer this time. He simply grabbed his bag and emptied its contents on the floor.

The armour landed on the tiles with a deafening clank.

Syndow stared at the armour with jaw slackened, for the image of the tree and the seven stars was visible on the breastplate as clear as day.

"Yes," Beregond said, switching to the Amestrian Tongue and realising what was Syndow thinking. "The medallion, the armour and the language… just like _that_ knight. And if you still have any doubts whether I mock you or not, Professor Syndow, speak to the man who found me on the streets more than nine months ago, dazed and frightened and wearing the very armour you see before you."

And without expecting an answer, Beregond opened the door of the study and beckoned Havoc to come inside. Havoc came in, not really understanding what he was needed for; that is, until Beregond asked him to tell Syndow of their first encounter.

Havoc did. And as soon as he was finished, Beregond turned to Syndow again.

"Now will you listen to what I have to say?" he asked.

Syndow could only nod his acquiescence in his clearly shaken state.

"Very well."

And so, Beregond told of everything, in the same manner that it was taught to him by his kin. From the creation of the world to the coming of the Elves; from the arrival to the Undying lands to the rebellion and their wish to return to their own homelands; from the coming of Men to their meeting and alliances with the Elves; from the tale of Beren and Lúthien to the story of Eärendil and Elwing; and from the foundation of Númenor and its downfall – and, finally, of those who survived.

"Nine ships there were: four for Elendil, and for Isildur three, and for Anárion two. They fled before the black gale out of the twilight of doom into the darkness of the world and, after many days, they were cast upon the shores of Middle-earth. Afterwards, Elendil and his sons founded kingdoms in Middle-earth; and though their lore and craft was but an echo of that which had been ere Sauron came to Númenor, it nevertheless seemed very great to the wild men of the world. And much is said in other lore of the deeds of the heirs of Elendil in the age that came after, and of their strife with Sauron that not yet was ended. For Sauron wasn't of mortal flesh; and though he was robbed now of that shape in which he had wrought so great an evil, so that he could never again appear fair to the eyes of Men, his spirit arose out of the deep and came back to Middle-earth, to the dark land of Mordor. There he wrought himself a new guise, an image of malice and hatred made visible.

"But these things come not into the tale of the Drowning of Númenor. The name of that land perished, and Men spoke ever after of Akallabêth the Downfallen, Atalantë in the Elven Tongue."

And that was how Beregond ended his tale. None of the other people present in the study spoke for a long time after that. After all, though Falman and Havoc had heard bits and pieces of Beregond's story before, it was only now that they heard it in detail. As for Syndow, he just regarded the Gondorian with eyes wide open before he approached him and lightly touched Beregond's face.

"When I first looked at you, I thought you were different from the treasure hunters that usually walk through my door; that's why I decided to confide in you. But not even in my wildest dreams did I ever think that history would walk through my door in the flesh."

"Now you see why I wanted to look at those stories," Beregond said.

"Yes… yes, I do," Syndow said quite thoughtfully. He walked over to his desk and picked up a piece of paper, which he now showed to the soldiers.

"Was the Island of Númenor like this, Sergeant?"

Beregond only needed to take one brief look at the map before nodding. "Yes. Its five-cornered shape was unique."

"So those two islands were identical, in the same way Amestris and Middle-earth were meant to be identical," Falman said. He faced Beregond. "It's just like the way you suspected."

It was then that Beregond asked it.

"How sure are we that we're talking about two islands?"

Everyone looked at the Gondorian incredulously, unsure what to make of that question.

"The day that Númenor sank was marked in the memory of my people as the Great Change of the World, because not only it reminded us of our ancestors' downfall, but because the Valar, in their wrath, shifted our world's shape," Beregond explained. "The Undying Lands, which until then it was said that one was able to see them on a clear summer's day and had become the corrupted Men's desire in the hopes of gaining immortality, were taken from the Circles of the World and moved beyond the reach of the race of Men; all roads became bent.

"But now I have reasons to believe that this was only partly true. None of the surviving parties witnessed the actual sinking of Númenor. Their testimonies are based on seeing the great waves that pushed them to the shores of Middle-earth. And since no one's heard news from the Island or found it on their ventures to the sea again, it could be safely assumed that it had vanished underneath those waves."

"Wait a minute," Havoc said then. "Are you implying it didn't sink?"

"In a way… yes," Beregond said. At the next moment, he took out from underneath his shirt the pendant with the five-pointed star, showing it to everyone present. "I was holding on to this when I was brought here. Now look at this." He briefly scanned his surroundings for a marker and a sheet of tracing paper, and then took the map from Syndow's hands. Before Syndow could ask what Beregond wanted the map for, the Gondorian had already placed the sheet of tracing paper over the map and drew lines that connected all five corners of the island over it.

Forming in this way a _large_ five-pointed star.

Syndow, Falman and Havoc could only stare at the marked star in astonishment.

"What if…" Beregond ultimately asked, "…the Undying Lands were not the only ones taken beyond the circle of my world?"

TBC…


	14. Conclusions

There was silence for a long time, as all three people tried to take in what Beregond had just told them. In the end, it was Falman who spoke first.

"You mean… you're suggesting we're…"

He didn't continue. But Beregond did.

"…The descendants of those Númenóreans who supposedly perished when the Island sank." A bittersweet smile crossed his features. "It makes sense, I suppose. A father that loves his child can't kill it, no matter what wrongs it has done. The same can be applied in Ilúvatar's case. After all, Men are his creations and there is no denying that he loves them." Havoc got ready to say something, but Beregond proved quicker. "Not beyond punishing them when they've gone too far," he said, already knowing what was in the lieutenant's mind. "By creating for them a world identical to the one they were to leave behind, he let them try to survive on their own, bereft of kinsmen and without the aid of the Valar."

Havoc swallowed hard. "That's like a story my mother used to tell me: The first man and woman of this world ate from the fruit of knowledge in their attempt to become as wise as a god. Because of that, the said god exiled them from the garden he had made especially for them to live in and forced them to earn everything through sweat and toil."

"That could be the same case, just a lot more allegorical," Beregond said. He looked at the map thoughtfully. "A most terrible punishment," he murmured.

"At first, at least," Havoc said. "I mean, we're still around. We survived in the end."

"Yeah, you did," Beregond said softly. "You survived and for thousands of years you thrived, becoming strong once again. Yet what greater punishment is there than to forget your brethren? For once we're forgotten, we cease to exist." He sighed. "And I stopped existing in my world a long time ago."

"Wait," Havoc said, surprised. "What are you talking about?"

This time, Beregond didn't reply.

"Hey…" Havoc placed a hand on the Gondorian's shoulder.

But Beregond only pulled himself away gently and walked toward the window, his gaze locked outside.

Not knowing what to make of it, Havoc looked at Falman and Syndow in a confused manner. "What?"

Falman pursed his lips momentarily but, in the end, he decided to just answer.

"Beregond showed proof to the Colonel that both worlds were created in the same pattern. Which means that something else is identical," he said slowly. "Time cycles. A year has 365 days not only in this world, but in Beregond's world, too."

"I don't see what this has got to do with anything," Havoc said with a frown.

"Second Lieutenant," Syndow said, "The sinking of Atlantis – and, consequently, Númenor's Downfall - is dated 9,000 years ago."

Havoc regarded Falman and Syndow for many long moments, trying to process what he was told. When it dawned on him, he whirled around and stared at Beregond incredulously.

"When were you born?!"

Beregond answered in a toneless and tired voice; he didn't turn around to look at the others.

"3,000 years after Númenor sank. Which makes me a 6,000-year-old living fossil."

The grim, soulless chuckle that escaped his lips sent a chill to everyone's heart.

* * *

Al walked through the corridors of Central Library, scanning at every book he happened to catch sight of.

_Where is that book Brother asked me to find?_ the suit of armour wondered mentally. He rechecked the shelves of the particular corridor, but he had no luck. The book was nowhere to be seen.

_But Brother said it would be here!_ Al was sure Ed couldn't have possibly made a mistake. His brother could name the place of each and every book with the precision of a librarian by now.

_Wait a minute… Librarian!_

And with that, Al started searching all the corridors of the State Central Library again, because he knew _exactly_ who would be able to help him.

"Mrs. Abbot!"

Truly enough, the woman was up a ladder and putting some books on a nearby shelf. She instantly looked down when she heard a familiar voice calling her.

"Alphonse!" she said, smiling broadly. "Wait a moment, I'll be right down."

"Wait, I'll help!" Al said. He caught the woman gently by her waist, something that made Sarah let out an exclamation of surprise. There was no need for alarm of course; Al merely wanted to ease her way down. And by the time the woman's feet touched the ground, she was grinning.

"You know, you could be very useful around here, Alphonse," she commented. "There would be no fear of falling." She chuckled when she saw Al's body posture – it was signifying that the armour was blushing profusely. She patted the metal arm kindly. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too, Mrs. Abbot," Al said. "Lieutenant Colonel Hughes said you were working here now."

"Yes, I have been since… almost three weeks, actually. The lieutenant colonel told me you were here, but I heard you were too busy to accept visits."

"We wouldn't mind seeing you or Alice, Mrs. Abbot, you know that," Al replied, nodding with emphasis.

"Nevertheless, your work is far more important." She looked around, noticing that something was missing from the picture.

Or rather, someone.

"So where's Edward? I'd expect him to be with you."

"He's in room 301; he just sent me over here to find a book for him. I can't seem to find it though."

"Oh? What book was it?"

"A dictionary on Alchemy. Brother said it was supposed to be in this section."

Sarah thought about it for a moment. "If it's not, then somebody most probably borrowed it. Let's go see if it's by any chance on today's returned books, all right?"

"That would be helpful. Thank you, Mrs. Abbot."

"It's nothing that I don't do in a usual day's work, so don't worry about it," Sarah said, waving her hand dismissively. They both started walking towards the registration desk. "I used to do that for Mr. Beregond before I was transferred here."

Al jumped at the chance.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hughes told us a bit of that. Was Beregond working on something?"

Sarah nodded. "He was, but I'm not sure what he was looking for exactly. I used to give him the books, and he would just spend hours over them. He even took notes on occasion."

"What kind of books?" Al asked.

"You know, that's the strangest part," Sarah answered. "They were mythology books."

If Al could, he would have blinked his surprise. He couldn't understand why Beregond would want to read such books. He and Ed were never interested in them; they had preferred Alchemy above everything else ever since he could remember.

So… why?

"Ah, here we are," Sarah declared at that moment, picking up the list of the returned books. "Now, what was the title of that book?"

Feeling his musings cut off for the present, all Al could do was answer the question and look at the list too.

* * *

"I don't understand it! How is this possible?!" Havoc finally said. He still kept his eyes on Beregond, frustrated that the man wouldn't turn around to look at him. "You said it yourself: you were in Middle-earth; the next minute, you weren't!"

"I remember what I said," the Gondorian said simply.

"Then how the hell did you end up 6,000 years ahead of your time?" Havoc insisted. He didn't heed Falman's attempts to calm him down or even Beregond's hands curling into trembling fists.

"Sergeant…" Syndow tried to say.

But then Beregond's trembling stopped, and his gaze locked again on the others. "I don't know. The only logical explanation I can think of is that that… moment… lasted a lot longer than I believed."

Syndow frowned at this. "Is that even possible?"

"Until a couple of hours ago you didn't think the existence of another world was possible," the Gondorian pointed out, smiling grimly. "Just like I wouldn't believe in the existence of _this_ world several months ago."

It was clear Syndow couldn't really argue with that, for he nodded and accepted Beregond's explanation. He still wanted to know more though.

"Was there anything in that place you were that could indicate the change of time?"

That was a question that Havoc and Falman probably meant to voice as well, because at the next moment they had both pricked up their ears and waited for an answer.

Beregond shook his head ruefully. "I'm afraid I can't help you, Professor. I can't remember but bits and pieces and most of them in a blur."

If Syndow meant to ask something else, he didn't get his chance. For it was then that Beregond turned to Havoc.

"Sir, I believe it's time we reported our findings back to Colonel Mustang."

Havoc and Falman exchanged a brief look, unsure what to think of that. However, there was something in the Gondorian's expression that told both that they would have to indulge him. Havoc raised a hand in defeat.

"All right. Let's go."

And with that, all three soldiers mumbled their goodbye to the professor and started heading out. All Syndow could do was watch them go and return the farewell with the same heaviness of heart.

They had unravelled the truth behind Atlantis… but the price proved almost too high.

Suddenly, Syndow noticed something that made him call out. "Sergeant!"

Beregond turned and looked back at the professor in confusion.

"You didn't take your armour."

Indeed, the armour was still lying where Beregond had dropped it, now all but forgotten.

But Beregond turned his head away.

"Keep it. I don't think I'll need it anymore," he said; his tone was soft and barely audible.

Syndow's eyes widened. "I couldn't possibly--" he started.

Beregond proved faster. "Consider it a gift for your help. For you helped, indeed."

The elderly man stared incredulously at Beregond, not sure what else to say. Until, after he finally made up his mind, walked up to the armour and reverently picked up the breastplate. He held it close to his chest.

"I will treasure it, just as if it were one of my own things," he promised.

That made Beregond smile a bit and nod his thanks. However, when he had started walking out once more, Syndow's voice stopped him on his tracks again.

"Sergeant Beregond? Here's a word of advice. Once you do something, you never forget; even if you can't remember."

There was a pause for many long moments, yet the only thing Beregond said before exiting was:

"I understand. Thank you, Professor."

* * *

There were many buildings of various sizes and shapes in Central City, but only few that most certainly stood out: The Military Headquarters, which were located west; the Parliament, located on the north; the State Library; and the building of Central Times, which was right on the centre of the city. The latter building was important, because the journalists working there served as the medium to inform the people of Central and beyond about the actions within the first two buildings, as well as what was going on outside the safe borders of Amestris.

However, Thaddeus Gray, one of the most renowned journalists out there, was now appointed to another sort of task.

"Here they are, lads," Thaddeus said to the military officers that had arrived in his office. The huge cigar was still between his lips all the while he talked. "All these papers date as far back as 1823 – the year Central Times were founded, in fact. You should be able to find everything you want to look there. Each file contains the papers published in a period of ten years."

The lower-ranking of the two officers, a sergeant-major by the name of Casey Turner, looked at the hundreds of files and envelopes and he swallowed hard. "That's a lot."

Thaddeus let out a loud, hearty laugh. "So it is, isn't it? But don't worry," he added, slapping the sergeant-major on the back in a friendly manner. "I can name you most of the executions that have been done over the years – if not all."

"Really, Mr. Gray?" asked the higher-ranking officer, a certain Charles Devon. "I only thought you covered war-stories. Haven't you been just recently in Liore?"

"Well, I can't always be doing that," Gray said with a shrug. "Someone from the press has to serve as witness during the execution of those scumbags; preferably someone with the stomach to handle it."

"I see. So you might be able to recall some of those convicted?" Devon asked.

"Sure," Thaddeus answered with a grin. "I can actually name two from the top of my head just like that. There was Barry the Chopper; that was one sick bastard. And then there was Shou Tucker, the guy who used his own daughter to make a chimera. Good riddance, that's what I say."

Devon raised an eyebrow. "You mean the State Alchemist Tucker?"

"Yup, unless he's got a twin I wouldn't know of," Thaddeus said, laughing once more. "But come, we can talk this over as you check the articles."

And with that, he motioned for them to sit so they could start working.

Neither of the officers noticed the violet glint that reflected momentarily on the journalist's eyes.

* * *

"I don't get it. What did Syndow mean by that?"

It was Havoc who asked that question.

Roy rubbed his chin thoughtfully, watching Havoc, Falman and Beregond with great interest. After all, it wasn't every day that he saw two of his men nearly at a loss for words and the third one with an empty look in his eyes.

"The answer seems simple enough," he finally said. He knitted his fingers and placed his elbows on the desk. "It would appear he suggested Sergeant Beregond's memories are within the sergeant's mind; except Sergeant Beregond can't recall them for some reason."

"This could also suggest Beregond _does_ suffer from some kind of amnesia," Falman said.

"The same kind Alphonse does."

Everyone turned at Beregond's direction, slightly taken aback to hear him speak again after being silent for so long.

"When the boys told me of their own… experience," Beregond went on, "Edward could give me every little detail. Alphonse, on the other hand, didn't remember anything; he couldn't. This also explains why Edward and I can bypass the standard array and not Alphonse."

Roy nodded knowingly. "He doesn't remember seeing the Gate, so he can't recall the knowledge within it."

"Yes," Beregond answered. "That leads us to the next logical step."

Roy didn't say anything. He understood what Beregond meant.

But Falman, who had also caught on, stared at Beregond with wide-open eyes. "You are planning on retrieving those memories?" he asked.

Beregond shrugged. "There has to be a way. And if I can retrieve them, maybe I can also find out what happened inside the Gate."

_And maybe figure out a way to return back to your home_, Roy added in his mind.

"But how is that to be done?" Havoc asked, now feeling more confused than ever. "If you can't remember, you can't retrieve them."

"There is a way," Roy declared. "I had searched this matter, considering it as an alternative option in case you, Sergeant, still suffered from that strange… mental trauma that made you forget everything back on the first days of our encounter."

Beregond actually blushed at this and mumbled: "Yes, sorry about that."

"What kind of alternative, Sir?" Falman asked curiously.

Roy didn't speak at once. He first took out from his drawer his journal and opened it to look at one particular written page.

"Falman? Have you ever heard of a certain Dr. Ian Thornlace?"

Falman instantly sat up on the couch. "He's a psychologist. Born in Drachma in 1872, but moved here at an early age. Considered a brilliant mind by his peers, he got a PhD in 1897. He's well known for his research and practice of hypnosis."

Beregond looked at the others, not really understanding. "Hypnosis?"

Falman was ready to answer, but Roy stopped him in a gesture of "I have this" and proceeded, using his journal as reference. "Hypnosis is, as the name implies, a state of sleep. It's induced to the subject by a professional, making the said subject quite susceptible to suggestion."

"What do you mean?" Beregond asked. But then realisation clearly hit him. "The person who is under hypnosis has no will of his own?"

"Yes, one could say that," Roy admitted. "However, I was assured that hypnosis is used mainly for medical purposes. Specifically, to recall memories and thoughts suppressed by the conscious mind, so as to find the cause - and the cure, consequently – of several psychological problems and even traumas."

"If it's so effective, why didn't the doctors who treated me in the past go for that method?" Beregond asked.

"Because many scientists believe that the results are rather dubious," Roy answered. "Considering that the hypnotised person is under the influence of the hypnotist, there's no telling how much of the memories are suggested or not. However, if it's an experience that the hypnotist is not aware of…"

"…then there are more chances that it's a personal experience," Havoc completed, seeing through the Colonel's train of thought. "The hypnotist doesn't know about the Gate or Middle-earth."

"Exactly," Roy said with a nod.

"Sir, with all due respect," Falman said, "that method has also certain complications."

"Complications?" echoed Beregond, frowning.

Roy crossed his arms and sat back on his chair. "Yes. There's also the matter of the abreaction to keep in mind. When the hypnotised person is forced to recall their memories, other things resurface as well."

Beregond understood.

"You mean feelings. To remember, I have to _relive_ my memories."

Roy nodded again. "Along with all the pain accompanying them. That's one of the reasons that I finally decided against it. Besides, an abreaction can prove dangerous, so the would-be subject's consent is needed."

Beregond didn't speak for many moments, clearly contemplating matters thoroughly. Roy, Havoc and Falman noticed how nervously the Gondorian wrung his hands, yet they didn't say anything.

In the end, Beregond asked only one question:

"Will I be on my own?"

"No. I will be there," Roy answered at once. "First Lieutenant Hawkeye will also be escorting us."

Beregond rubbed his forehead and finally let out a deep sigh. "All right. I'll do it."

Roy locked his gaze on Beregond's eyes. "Are you sure about this, Sergeant?"

Beregond didn't answer. He simply nodded.

"Very well. I'll arrange a meeting with Dr. Thornlace for the soonest possible. Gentlemen, you're dismissed."

Complying, Havoc and Falman stood up and saluted before walking out. Beregond didn't follow them though. He stopped on the doorway and then turned around to face Roy.

That certainly surprised the colonel. He raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Is something wrong, Sergeant?"

"It concerns the Elric Brothers, Sir."

Roy caught on. "Close the door."

Beregond did just that and then walked up to the desk.

"Well?" Roy asked. "What is it?'

"I'm aware you know of Edward and Alphonse's attempt on human transmutation. I also know that you've been offering them leads on the Philosopher's Stone."

"Did Edward tell you that?"

Beregond nodded. "And I was told that the Philosopher's Stone helps its wielder to bypass the laws of nature and even offer him immortality. That's why it's so coveted."

"That's correct."

Beregond sighed. "So, basically, the goals of the people of Amestris haven't changed from the days of Númenor. Like our common ancestors, you've been seeking immortality, too."

"And like that man Dûrinas from your world. At the cost of your son's life," Roy pointed out.

"Yes," Beregond said, grimacing slightly.

Though he didn't expect such a thing from himself, Roy regretted the jab. After all, if anyone was more than aware of what happened to an innocent life, it was the Gondorian.

Still, it would appear Beregond wasn't that easily daunted, because he continued on. "As the Númenóreans made sacrifices to gain that… 'gift', so did Dûrinas."

"Do you have any idea what made him seek such a thing?" Roy asked.

"Yes. Dûrinas had found some manuscripts in the library of Minas Tirith that dated back from those days. He had said that they had 'shown him the way.'"

Roy frowned slightly. "That means he also followed the guidance of that being you mention so often – Sauron, is it? Just like the Númenóreans."

"Why wouldn't they? Sauron had _promised_ them he would grant it to them, so they fell for it," Beregond said. There was a tone of bitterness in those words that Roy didn't think the Gondorian was capable of using. "Honestly though, I have no doubts that Sauron could have offered it, if he didn't feel contempt for humans and only manipulated them to accomplish his own goals. As a force of nature, he knew the laws of it. Well enough to bend them to his will, in fact."

A terrible suspicion started creeping on Roy's mind. "Bend them enough to provide _means_ to immortality, for example?"

Beregond nodded. "He had done it before. He had guided the race of the Elves under fair disguise to create Nine Rings of Power which, among other things, had the ability to prolong a mortal man's life. And then Sauron forged for himself another Ring, pouring into it a part of himself to make it powerful enough to control all the others and so bind them to _his_ will. That one also delayed old age, far more efficiently than the others. So… what does it take to create something which can actually offer _everlasting_ life?"

Roy closed his eyes, taking in what the Gondorian said.

"Looks to me like the Númenóreans and Dûrinas knew the answer." He shook his head. "Bad exchange."

"By the time they had come to that point, they were far too corrupted to care," Beregond said. "Just like Sauron had wanted."

"And since both worlds work the same way…" Roy said, but didn't continue.

"Yes." Beregond sat on the couch in a drained manner. "How am I ever going to tell them?"

It didn't take a great mind to understand about whom the Gondorian was talking.

_How are you going to tell them, indeed?_ Roy thought.

There was only one answer to that.

"You won't."

Beregond stared at the Colonel for a few moments, clearly not expecting Roy to say that. He didn't try to object though; he just nodded his obedience half-heartedly and said: "I'll trust your judgement. You're my superior."

Roy nodded in approval at the answer. _If only more people were like you, Mr. Beregond, I'd be one happy man._

Nevertheless, he decided he had to explain himself anyway.

"If the lead Ed followed all the way to Central was offered to him by Dr. Marcoh, as I suspect, he will find out for himself soon enough anyway – if he hasn't already. And there's something else. I'm thinking there might be a chance that, once under hypnosis, you might be able to recall some useful knowledge on alchemy, maybe even about human transmutation. That will certainly prove more helpful to Edward and Alphonse, since the hunt for the Philosopher's Stone will become obsolete."

"I understand," Beregond said. "But what if I don't find anything?"

"Then you have my permission to go after them and see for yourself what they've found. Even tell them about the price, if they don't know about it."

Little did either of them know that, back in Central City, a fifteen-year-old alchemist and his younger brother had eventually managed to crack Marcoh's code. And Edward Elric was now cursing the doctor through gritted teeth, banging his hands on the table in dismay.

For in the notebook were written the words:

"_The raw materials needed for the Philosopher's stone are sacrifices of human lives._"

TBC…


	15. God's Ways

Warning: 1) This is _long_, as in 19 pages long. So be ready for quite the emotional ride.

2) Character deaths (implied for the most part).

* * *

Riza walked briskly down the hallway and straight to Beregond's office. The appointment Mustang had arranged with the psychologist was in half an hour, and the Gondorian was already running late. She knocked when she saw the door was closed, even though, as a higher-ranking officer, didn't _need_ permission to enter. When she didn't get an answer, however, she decided that this was no time for courtesy and so she walked in anyway.

What she saw was a very frustrated Beregond talking on the phone.

"They didn't appear in the library at all today?"ff

Riza raised an eyebrow in curiosity. The only answer Beregond gave her though was a small "Please, wait" wave of his hand, and then he turned his attention back on the phone.

"Not even yesterday? Or the day before?" There was a momentary pause during which Beregond listened carefully to the speaker at the other end of the line. "When you last saw them, did you notice anything different about them? In the way they acted or talked?"

There was another pause, and Riza detected with some concern that an expression of worry settled on Beregond's features.

The man sighed.

"I see. Thank you, Mrs. Abbot." And with that, he hung up.

Riza opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but another voice rang out first; Roy's voice. And he certainly didn't sound pleased at all.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, is there a reason you're still waiting for Sergeant Beregond to--?" Roy was still talking when he stepped into the office and, when he saw Beregond's face, his voice trailed off. It was quite obvious that that he didn't expect to see the Gondorian in such a state.

"What happened?" he asked.

Beregond stood up, only locking his gaze briefly on the colonel before going to the coat-rack.

"You were right about Edward, Sir," was all that he said before grabbing his overcoat and put it on with quick, fidgeting movements. He headed for the door without losing a beat. "I'll be waiting by the car."

And with that he was gone out of the door and out of sight, without looking behind.

Riza didn't really understand what Beregond meant, but Roy did. Clenching a bit his jaw, he exited too, with Riza following closely behind. He didn't like Beregond's news, of course, and he was worried about the boys too; but there was nothing that could be done for them at present.

Thornlace expected them.

* * *

Empty. That was what he felt. Empty of all emotion and drained of any strength to get up from the couch he had been lying on for what it seemed like years.

Where was Al?

Ah… there he was. He could just barely see the top of the helmet behind the couch.

He wasn't moving either.

Ed looked up at the ceiling again. There was too much silence, he deduced; heavy, mournful silence that was only cut by the squeaking fan hovering over them.

"God must really hate people who go against him. I was eleven years old then and He still has me marked," he uttered softly before he could help it. And as though his mechanical arm suddenly got a mind of its own, it rose above him, stretched out in what seemed like hope in grabbing something elusive.

"Every time I thought I was in reach, He's pulled it away so I'd fall on my face." The metal fingers clenched forcefully. "And now that I've finally got my fist around it, He raises his big, obnoxious foot and kicks me in the teeth."

There was only one word with which he could describe that situation.

Unfair.

Sighing, Ed lowered his automail arm again and hid his eyes from that deceitfully bright day that seemed to mock the darkness in his heart.

"Just face it, Al. It's gonna be this way our whole lives."

"Don't say that."

Al's tone was soft, but Ed still couldn't bear it. Curling his body into a ball, he rolled over to his side, keeping his back to the suit of armour.

"I really thought it was gonna work out, Brother. We would find the Philosopher's Stone and it would all be okay."

The small clanking sounds were enough indication to Ed that Al moved. And Ed was quite sure that his little brother was looking over the couch to see him.

"It still will be," said the suit of armour, trying to sound confident. "We'll find the stone, Brother; we will! And we'll get our bodies back to normal and be happy. People say you're a dog of the military; that you sold your soul to get this far…"

_Don't remind me_, Ed thought, grimacing.

"… but that isn't true and it didn't stop us. And this won't either. We've worked too hard. And we have to work twice as hard if we're to keep our promise to Beregond. He needs the Stone as much as we do."

_Beregond. Damn it…_

"How are we ever going to tell him, Al?"

There was silence again for some time while Al thought about this.

"We'll just have to," he finally said. "He has a right to know."

_Ah… so he didn't make the connection yet._

"Al, don't you remember?"

"Remember what?" Al asked in surprise.

"Those murders he was looking into before he… got here. '_They were used as sacrifices for immortality._' That's what he said." A wry chuckle flowed out of Ed's lips weakly. "He had the answer all along and he didn't even know it."

A loud gasp of shock emanated from the suit of armour.

"You mean… his son was killed over--?" He didn't finish that sentence. "How can you be sure?"

"I'm not. But it makes sense, doesn't it? Too much of a coincidence," Ed said, his voice just a little more than a murmur. "That bloody stone has a way of screwing with whole worlds, apparently." He tried to laugh; he really did. That was freaking hilarious, after all!

So hilarious he wanted to cry.

* * *

Lieutenant Ross still stood just outside the door, the tray of food she meant to bring to the brothers forgotten as she listened on. She didn't understand much about alchemy, nor was she even interested in that.

What she knew was that the children she had been assigned to escort were now lost. And she didn't like that.

* * *

_That damn sound of papers… _Ed rolled again on his side to block out the shuffling noises Al made as he skimmed once more through Marcoh's notes. But then the young alchemist heard the one suggestion he _didn't_ want to hear.

"Brother? Let's look at it again… from the beginning."

"I've looked at it enough," Ed answered instantly. He curled up tighter around his body.

"But there's a chance we misread something. Maybe we got it wrong."

"I said I've had enough," Ed said, unable to hide the edge in his voice. _Just let it go, Al._

He didn't.

"But what if our code's wrong? Maybe that's not what it says! Or maybe we missed some key paragraph, like a loophole or something! We should read the whole thing again--"

It was then that something snapped inside Edward. He sat up immediately and span around with cat-like reflexes to send a cup that was inches from him flying.

"I said ENOUGH!!!"

The shattering sound that followed his wrathful scream shook him to his very core.

The cup had hit Al, breaking against his mask.

_Oh no…_

And Al was just as shocked; Ed could see that only too clearly.

The noise of the papers falling from his little brother's grasp was deafening in the silence that reigned. "Brother?"

_So small and shaky_, Ed noted in horror at hearing Al's voice. _What have I done?_

He barely registered the sound of two people running and a voice asking him: "Is something wrong, Sir?"

_Not these two…_ Ed really didn't want to talk about it, especially with Ross and Bloch. "It's just a broken cup. Go back in the hall," he ordered before curling up once again on the couch with his back to everyone. "Sorry, Al," he added, remembering himself.

He didn't let the half-hearted "Yeah" his brother said get to him. He simply closed his eyes and tried to block once again the sound of the papers that apparently were being collected from the floor.

"So, Edward… that's really the end of it?"

Ed cocked his head in surprise, because it wasn't Al who had asked that question, but Ross.

"You won't regret it then? Giving up before you finished?"

_What is she on about?_

"That's interesting. I didn't realise what you were searching for was so incidental you'd abandon it this easily."

"Stop going on like you know what you're talking about. You don't know anything," Ed answered back.

"Wrong, Edward. I know that what you boys have been searching for is the Philosopher's Stone…"

Ed half-turned his head to glance at her over his shoulder.

"… and I know it's created by sacrificing human lives."

_What?!_ Ed instantly span around into a sitting position, looking at her incredulously. And apparently he wasn't the only one shocked at this. Sergeant Bloch and Al were now looking at Ross just as dumbfounded.

"I know it was uncalled for, but I was listening through the door," she explained.

All feelings of shock disappeared. _Nice…_thought Ed with a mental snort and closed his eyes. "Well, if you eavesdropped then you must know it's pointless to chase after it now." Waving a dismissive hand at Ross, he returned to his curling position, not looking at her. "So leave us alone."

There was a small pause, and Ed believed for a moment, that she had, indeed, left.

He was wrong.

"You really are a child, aren't you?" she asked.

_Why you…!_ Ed jumped back into a seated position, glaring and feeling his nostrils flaring at her insolence.

But she was undaunted.

"You're frightened of it; that all the answers will disappear."

Ed's anger wavered.

"You're terrified you might have to admit that everything you've done was wasted effort."

No, damn it, they weren't! He got ready to speak his mind, but Ross proved relentlessly faster.

"Am I wrong?"

Ed tried to speak; he tried so hard. But he couldn't bring himself to.

Because she was right.

What if they _were_ wasted effort?

He couldn't admit that though. Otherwise, what was left for him to do?

Nothing.

Despair treacherously crept in his heart, making him hide his face on his mechanical arm. No one needed to see the tears that started welling up in his eyes.

"It's okay to feel lost," Ross said kindly.

That prodded Ed to look at her. He briefly caught sight of Al regarding the lieutenant intently through the corner of his eye; and then he saw her approaching him with a small smile.

"Verifying whether Marcoh's research is the truth or not is worth something in itself if you ask me," she said. "After all, what you're looking for is a lot bigger than you or Al. Your friend's presence is enough proof of that."

_Just for how long did she eavesdrop?_ Ed thought wonderingly.

But Ross was far from finished.

"Why don't you try searching a little longer, Edward? But without worries about the final result." She handed him the papers, and Edward stared at them for a long time; that is, until realisation finally hit him.

"You're right. It's like a book: just because you're mad and stop reading doesn't change the way it ends."

"That's right!" Al exclaimed happily.

Ed stood up, his determination settling back in his heart. "We've had roadblocks and we've conquered them all! I'll be damned if we stop half way! We'll take this all the way to the finish!" he declared with a grin before turning to his brother. "Let's do this, Al!"

"Right!"

And they both went back to work, not noticing Ross's relieved sigh.

Their hope was rekindled.

* * *

Roy, Riza and Beregond were still in the doctor's waiting hall, sitting patiently in one of the couches till the secretary told them they could go in. Roy watched Beregond from the corner of his eye for any signs of nervousness, but there were none to be detected. Whatever reservations the Gondorian had concerning the hypnosis session were now gone. That was a good sign.

"Mr. Mustang? Mr. Beregond? The doctor will see you now," the secretary said at that moment, checking on her list of appointments.

Roy nodded and turned to Beregond. "Ready?"

Beregond smiled grimly. "As ready as I can be."

"Good enough," Roy said, chuckling mildly. They both stood up and, after Roy motioned Riza to follow them as well, they all stepped inside.

It was then that Beregond suddenly stopped on his tracks, and Roy couldn't for the life of him understand why. Unless…

_Don't tell me he's losing his nerve now!_

However, another voice cut into his train of thought.

"Ah… Colonel Mustang. I see you were quite precise on our appointment."

It was Dr. Thornlace, standing in front of his office with a broad smile on his lips.

Roy had to admit to himself that the doctor didn't look much like a man of science. True, he didn't expect to see a bald man with a goatee, glasses and a cigar in his mouth either. It was just that Thornlace wasn't as old as the other doctors on his field. In fact, he was just about Beregond's age – if not a bit younger – and dressed in casual clothing. His expression wasn't austere either; his eyes reflected nothing but intelligence and friendliness. If there was anything which certainly distinguished Thornlace from any other doctors Roy happened to meet in his life was that when Thornlace locked his gaze on someone, it felt as though he could read the other like an open book.

Roy certainly felt that way when he shook hands with him anyway. Still, he didn't linger on it for long, because Thornlace turned to Beregond's direction.

"Is this the gentleman you told me of?" he asked.

Roy nodded. "Indeed. He's sergeant Beregond."

Thornlace smiled once more and extended his hand. "Hello, Mr. Beregond. It's nice to make your acquaintance."

But the Gondorian just stared at the man before him, looking quite pale.

When Roy noted this, he did the one thing he could do to snap Beregond out of it. He kicked him discreetly.

Fortunately, it worked. Beregond blinked a couple of times and extended his own hand toward Thornlace.

"Likewise," he managed to say, though his voice was weak and strained. And when Thornlace motioned them to sit down, Beregond took the chair that was farthest from the doctor.

If Thornlace was puzzled from this behaviour, he never showed it. But Roy certainly was. What was more, he now noticed that Riza had locked her gaze on Beregond, looking at him intently with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you comfortable?" Thornlace asked Beregond.

The Gondorian hesitated to answer. He just settled with a small nod.

Thornlace smiled again. "Good." He took a chair and sat down close to Beregond, facing him. "Now, before we begin," he said, "there are a few things I want to say first. I'm sure Colonel Mustang told you how hypnosis works. Have you ever been hypnotised?"

"N… no," Beregond faltered momentarily. "And I don't know what to think of it."

"Well, there's nothing to be afraid of, for starters," Thornlace said, his smile still tugged on his lips. "I'm going to use something very simple: I'll just put you into a light trance-state where some of the filtering processes of your mind relax and you have access to those elusive memories you want to retrieve. Okay?"

"Okay," Beregond said. He looked briefly at Riza's direction as he said that.

That had Roy intrigued, and he knew now, beyond any doubt, that there was something he was missing here. He would have to find out later what that something was.

It was then that Thornlace guided Beregond onto a lounge and asked him to close his eyes in order to relax. Beregond didn't comply, not at once anyway. His eyes remained locked on Thornlace, as though inspecting the doctor's features for one last time. He only closed his eyes when Thornlace repeated his request in the same calm tone he used before.

"Very good, Beregond," Thornlace commented, his voice slow and clear. "Now I'm going to ask you to go back to the place where everything started. Just keep your eyes closed and take long, deep breaths, relaxing all parts of your body. Long, deep breaths. Relaxing your hands and feet. Relaxing your jaw, your pelvis. Long, deep breaths. Go back to the place it all started. Relax and go back to your son's death."

Roy looked on but, to his mortification, Beregond looked anything but relaxed. His face was distorted in anguish and he was whimpering piteously. His head started lolling sideways, whereas his body squirmed as he tried to escape from the mental image.

"Beregond," Thornlace said gently. "Beregond, there's nothing to be afraid of. This thing can't hurt you. Just stay it with it. Tell me what is happening."

Beregond's shoulders started shaking violently. "I only see red… his little body is broken and red…" Heart-wrenching sobs escaped the man's lips and he hugged himself tightly as though attempting to control his tremors. "I try to wake him up but I can't… He… He's dead… and it's my fault…"

Roy sighed. He had always been concerned that Beregond blamed himself for what happened to his son, even though the Gondorian himself never voiced such a thing. Now it seemed Roy's fears were verified.

"Beregond, it's perfectly fine. Stay with it and don't let go. Tell me what you're doing."

"I shout… I shout at them…" Beregond's breathing was erratic now, his voice coming out with difficulty. "I don't want them to take him… Not him… He was her last gift to me…"

Roy felt his eyes widening at this. He didn't see Riza clenching her jaw at Beregond's words.

"To whom do you shout?" Thornlace asked.

"The Valar…"

Thornlace raised his eyebrow at that. "Who are they?"

"The protectors…"

Roy quickly leaned forward and whispered his explanation to Thornlace. Thornlace nodded his acknowledgement and turned to Beregond once again.

"Are they your gods?"

"Yes…"

"All right," the doctor said encouragingly. "What do you tell them?"

"Me… Me for my son…"

"Do they listen to you?"

"I don't know…" There was a small pause. "My hand feels strange."

"Which hand?"

Beregond didn't answer, at least not in words. His left hand was raised in the air, its fingers curled as though it was holding something.

Roy understood. It was the hand that held Dûrinas's pendant.

"Why does it feel strange?" Thornlace asked.

"There's red light everywhere… it tingles my hand…"

Suddenly, Beregond jerked violently, letting out a cry of mixed horror and shock. Thornlace still remained confident and collected.

"What's happening, Beregond?"

"IT HURTS!"

If Beregond's previous scream was loud before, this second one seemed to have the power to peel the very paint off the walls.

"Beregond, it's okay," Thornlace said over the cries. "It's in the past. The past can't hurt you."

But Beregond didn't seem to listen. Spasms coursed through his whole body and his hands grabbed his head so forcefully that his hair almost got pulled out from the roots.

Now that was too much. Roy and Riza got ready to move forward and snap Beregond out of it, but Thornlace gestured at them to wait.

"Beregond, what is happening?"

But the man couldn't reply; not when he was biting his lip so as not to scream again. He only shook his head.

"Please tell me, Beregond," Thornlace said. "It's all right. This is the past. It isn't hurting you. It _can't_ hurt you. Do you understand?"

Finally, the Gondorian started taking deep breaths and his body relaxed. "Yes…"

"Good. Why does it hurt?"

"Because… I'm falling," Beregond breathed out shakily. "My life… my whole life flies before me. Friends I knew; people I loved and people I hated; all my fears; all my dreams… I see everything… and I can't take it… I just… want the end…"

The last word had barely flowed out of Beregond's lips when his body suddenly went limb and his eyes opened.

And yet there was no life reflected through them.

"My body's gone."

Beregond's voice got so low that the three people were barely able to hear them. Nevertheless, his words were still able to take them all by surprise.

Riza's eyes widened and she turned at Roy's direction, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Did he just say…?"

"Humans are composed of the soul, the mind and the body," Roy whispered back, trying to keep himself in control. "If the body's gone, then he's just been deconstructed."

What he really meant was: "Beregond has just _died_."

Beregond was reliving his _death_.

Roy started feeling ill. Was that… was that what all the people he had killed in Ishbal went through? Even those doctors? The very people he had thought so wrongly that he had made their passing easy?

There was no such thing as painless death then…

He fleetingly noticed Riza knitting her fingers together, to stop her hands from trembling. Was she thinking the same?

And then Thornlace spoke again.

"Yet you can still tell me what is happening."

Beregond's voice was eerily low and cold when it answered. "With eyes that are no eyes and ears that are no ears… I see and I hear. And I stray out of thought and time; where all directions are as one, leading to truth and judgement."

Roy gritted his teeth and looked on. He had to keep listening to this.

"Where are you now?" Thornlace asked.

"At the Gates of Mandos. I look at them, and I wait."

"You wait for what?"

"For Him."

"You're waiting for your son?" Thornlace ventured.

"No… He's not here."

"Who are you waiting for then?"

"The Doomsman."

Thornlace swallowed hard, but he still remained calm. "Does he come?"

"He doesn't have to." Beregond's eyes started widening. "The Gates open… His eye is on me. I kneel to accept his wrath, but… " Beregond stopped; his expression softening to a mild surprise. "Comforting warmth surrounds me. He embraces me with hands of white light. I hear His voice in my head… It's… saddened."

"What does he say?"

Beregond's eyes welled up. "That I shouldn't be here. That this is wrong. That Sauron's lingering malice took everyone, including me, on a different path; one that none was meant to take. One that _I_ took anyway. He says that He understands though; he knows I only did it for my son's sake; for Bergil's time was meant to come much later."

Roy and Riza exchanged looks, the same thought entering their minds.

If one could claim that there was such a thing as fate, it was in Dûrinas's to find the papers and commit those murders. But it wasn't in Bergil's to die for his father and that only happened because of some sick twist of fate which Beregond's gods, for some unknown reason, didn't manage to stop.

Did that Sauron being had something to do with this? Perhaps another force of nature?

It didn't matter now.

What mattered was that Beregond had given up his own life for his son's, and that led to the Gondorian's _untimely_ death.

That was a mistake.

"I… don't know what to say…" Beregond continued on softly. "I want to plead… to ask him to send me and my son back. But he senses it and he tells me, before I even speak, that my desire is not possible. He can't change the fates of Men, no matter how wrong those fates are. He can't keep the spirits of Men that are dead within the confines of the world.

"And so I let go… and leave myself in his hands."

Thornlace leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "Where does he take you?"

"Inside the Gate. I hear the noise of the doors creaking shut and then whispers of other souls, so many of them that the sound rings in my ears. I do not see them, but I can feel their own non-existent gazes locking on me."

"Are you afraid?"

"No. I'm their brother now. And I'm treated as such when I'm finally placed down among them so I can take the path to the Outer Sea."

"What's that?"

"A place from where all souls pass to leave… never to return."

"But you didn't go."

"Because I'm stopped and asked to wait until He finally comes back. He sought counsel, he says; and after much conversing, Ilúvatar's thought was revealed to Him and His siblings."

"What does he say?"

"I will be granted the remainder of my days. But not within the confines of the world I was previously in. I cannot reclaim that life ever again. That is the price for granting me that privilege."

"What do you say to that?" Thornlace asked.

"Nothing… I can't…" Beregond's tone became quieter. "I'm merely told… to sleep."

Truly enough, Beregond's eyelids slowly drifted shut, and his body curled into a foetal position.

"Do you know what happens while you sleep?"

"I catch some talk, but I don't understand it," Beregond slurred drowsily. "Images float before my eyes I cannot comprehend. My mind fills with a kind of knowledge that I didn't think it even existed. And that goes on for centuries untold, until I finally hear the words I had been waiting to hear all this time.

"I am to awaken."

Beregond's hands clenched again, so tightly that the knuckles turned white.

"Stay with it," Thornlace encouraged. "What's happening?"

"The light of a street-lamp is blinding me; the solid ground of concrete is beneath me." The Gondorian's body trembled violently now. "It hurts, returning to my body after so long. The air is forced into my lungs… my heart beats loudly against my chest… It hurts so much…"

And Beregond let out one final cry, one that sounded much like a newborn's; then gradually he quietened down, until the only thing that could be heard was his strained breathing.

It was only then that the three others present had decided that they had heard enough.

"Beregond, are you listening to me?" Thornlace asked.

"Yes," the Gondorian managed to say painfully.

"Good. Beregond, I'm going to stop now. I want you to open your eyes and come back. Open your eyes and come back to us."

"Okay…" Complying, Beregond calmed down and opened his eyes, rubbing the sleep off them. The first thing he saw was Roy and Riza looking at him, their faces wan.

"You've been here the whole time?" Beregond asked; his surprise was quite evident.

Roy and Riza nodded weakly, still looking at him.

"Mr. Beregond? Do you realise what you have just experienced?" Thornlace asked.

Beregond turned at Thornlace's direction with a nod. "My death."

"Ah, but you've also done something else. You gave me insight as to what happens to a man's soul. Did you know that a person's body weighs 22 grams less the moment he dies?"

Roy shook his head. "With that you imply that the soul is something material. Yet, if that were true, alchemists would have been able to discover it."

"Not if the soul is, in fact, a kind of energy captured within the body," Thornlace argued. "When the body stops functioning, that energy gets released - only to either be recycled, or get transformed to something else."

Roy noticed Beregond flinching slightly. He didn't blame him, as he also realised what that _something else_ was.

Riza stared at Thornlace incredulously and voiced her own thoughts. "Doctor… by recycled… you mean reincarnation?"

Thornlace nodded. That made Roy rub his chin thoughtfully. "Which means that, theoretically, human transmutation is possible."

"But only by the one who has the ultimate say over things," Beregond added. His expression remained unreadable.

* * *

Since it was Friday, Mustang, Riza and Beregond went to find the others at their usual haunt in the bar. And once they finished telling of their news, Havoc, Falman, Breda and Fuery could only stare at them wide-eyed, because everything sounded too incredible to grasp.

It still had the power to leave them shaken though. It was a blessing that the rest of the customers didn't listen to the conversation but kept laughing and joking around as though nothing had changed and nothing ever would.

"I've never heard of a creepier thing in my life," Breda admitted.

"Creepy? Downright bloodcurdling, that's what it is," Fuery said, shuddering.

Falman turned to Beregond, who was sipping his ale without so much as an expression on his features. "So you're… the product of human transmutation?" he said quietly in wonder.

Havoc nudged the warrant officer on the ribs, slightly glaring. "Falman…!"

But Beregond reached a hand and stayed Havoc's arm. "It's all right," he said. "And to answer your question, Falman… I don't think of myself as one. Otherwise that would mean everyone in this room is the product of human transmutation also."

Roy chuckled wryly, his fingers tracing his bourbon-filled glass. "That's true. While in our mothers' womb, we're being constructed; the body, the mind and the soul are joined together into a whole, into a human. That's what happened to Beregond too, but not with the… conventional method."

"But there's something else, Sir. What if Beregond is not the only one who had to go through that?" Riza said thoughtfully. She turned to the Gondorian. "When you saw me, you thought I was your wife. Today I saw how you looked at Dr. Thornlace. Who did you think he was?"

Beregond's expression saddened. "Faramir. My lord – and best friend - whom I had sworn to protect with my life."

"Oh, man…" Havoc said softly before he could help it, uttering the thoughts of the others as well. "What is going on here?"

"I think I can answer that," Roy said. "Being descendants of those Númenóreans who supposedly perished, we share the same traits with Beregond's people – even traits of appearance. The same way siblings can resemble each other."

"And even if there are more souls that have been recycled in this world, it doesn't necessarily mean that they recall their previous life. As soon as one cycle ends, they move on to lead a new one," the Gondorian added. "He wasn't Faramir. Just like I know that you are not Almiel, Riza. After all, the Valar separated the world of Amestris and mine so there wouldn't be any contact between them except for the Gates. That was the punishment for the Númenóreans' corruption."

"No contact? But you're here," Fuery said in confusion.

"Fuery… they said I would be granted the remainder of my days but not within the confines of the world I was previously in."

"But that can only mean…" But Fuery froze the moment realisation hit him. "Oh…"

Beregond shrugged. "I suppose it's for the best," he said simply. "If I attempted returning to my world, I'd probably end up in the year 1914 – the same one that is here."

"That should be the least of your problems, you know," Breda said at that moment. "After all that has been said, do you realise that there is probably someone in Amestris who resembles _you?_"

Beregond blinked. "I didn't think of that."

Havoc swallowed hard. "What if someone comes across the other? Beregond could be…"

"That means we should be doubly careful," Roy said, not letting Havoc voice that fear. "And we can't afford people like Connors or Fawcette to find that out. Is that clear, gentlemen?"

Everyone nodded their understanding. After all, they had come to like the Gondorian and they wanted him safe.

* * *

The old woman took small, weak steps down the hallway, holding a candle in her hand to illuminate her way. The only stop she did was to have a peek inside a room to make sure her apprentice was sound asleep, and then she continued on towards the library. For it was where that she kept the yellow envelope she had been studying so hard these last few days.

The object of her study was puzzling, that was one of the conclusions she had reached as she kept looking at that file.

Another conclusion was that some of the things concerning that mysterious man by the name of Beregond just didn't add up.

How could someone, who had no knowledge of the language, money or papers, not to mention the slightest societal, historical and geographical knowledge, find his way to Central?

That man was practically a primitive brute!

And then there was the armour to be considered. _That_ not only pointed out that the man was a barbarian; it also pointed out that he was even odd in his mind.

On the other hand…

She sat down on the desk and took out from the envelope a picture that had interested her: a picture of the man himself.

Just where had he seen his face before?

Her eyes drifted back to the copy of the sergeant's journal and looked again at the strange, elegant writing. If she were able to crack the code in which it was written, than she would be able to get her answers, of that she was sure.

The problem was… she didn't know from where to begin. There was a pattern, surely, but what kind of pattern was it? It was probably the foreigner's language, like Envy suggested. That meant an attempt to translate it was out of the question. She didn't even know what kind of language it was. And, according to the yellow file, the linguist that had a look into it was just as puzzled.

_Unless…_

If the man was a primitive brute, why should his language be any different?

Her eyes drifted momentarily at several books at the library, lost in thought.

And then she smiled as an idea formed in her mind.

"Syndow…"

Deciding it was worth the chance and moving as quickly as her body permitted her, Dante stood up and went for the phone.

Sloth would have to run a few errands for her.

* * *

Havoc looked again at Beregond from the corner of his eye, both hands on the steering wheel as he drove on to their homes. The Gondorian was unusually quiet, doing nothing but staring at his usual spot on the ceiling of the car.

That was something that unnerved the lieutenant.

"Are you all right?" Havoc asked softly.

"Hmm?" Beregond turned his head just a bit so he could look at his companion.

Havoc indulged the man. "Are you okay with… you know…" Damn it, how could anyone breach a topic of conversation like this? "Your… remembering?"

Surprisingly enough, Beregond smiled – if only wanly.

"I feel fine," he said. "It's strange, you know. I remember everything and yet it doesn't affect me the way I thought it would. It's like remembering a passing dream."

"That's good, I suppose," Havoc said. "The way you described it, it sounded pretty awful."

Beregond just shrugged, and there was silence once more.

A silence that got too heavy for the lieutenant's comfort.

"I can always look at it from the bright side," the Gondorian said suddenly. "I'm 6,000 years old and I still look younger than any of you guys."

Though Havoc chuckled at his companion's attempt at humour, in truth he got even more worried and he caught himself mentally torn.

Should he let Beregond be?

He wasn't sure that it was a good idea.

But Beregond's talk and behaviour indicated that there was nothing wrong with him.

Still, it had barely been three hours since Beregond had found out that he couldn't get back to his world and that his companions and son were long dead – making him the lone survivor of a race of people now probably vanished.

_He said he's fine._

He _said._

Damn it!

His mental conflict came to a pause when he reached Beregond's house and had to stop the car.

"Thanks for the lift, Havoc," the Gondorian said. He got out and waved at his fellow soldier. "Goodnight."

Havoc opened his mouth in a motion to speak, his first words meaning to be: "You know, I'm too tired to drive all the way to my home, mind if I crash into your place tonight?". If anything, he would make sure he kept an eye on Beregond.

But all he said was: "Goodnight."

In a matter of moments, he was off again.

A few moments later, he was regretting it.

"Get a grip!" he exclaimed aloud. "He's a big boy!"

_He's also a friend._

Havoc sighed. He had nothing to say to that.

What if… he watched Beregond from the distance for a while? If everything seemed all right, then Havoc could go home without worries and, more importantly, without discomfiting the Gondorian.

Right, that settled it. He stopped his car at the next turn, got out and started going back on foot. He shivered a bit as the winter wind turned out to be colder than he expected, but he still walked on.

He wanted to make sure everything was fine.

He caught sight of the Gondorian at once. He was standing in front of the house with his head lifted upwards so that he could gaze at the stars, his form quite rigid.

So… was that good or bad?

It was then that he saw Beregond's shoulders shudder violently. And when Havoc saw the man burying his face in a trembling hand, he knew at once that the shudders were _not_ due to the cold.

_Oh no…_

All thoughts of subtlety forgotten, Havoc hurried at Beregond's side and clasped a hand on the Gondorian's shoulder.

"Beregond?"

Beregond looked up, only mildly surprised to see the lieutenant. Streaks of tears were lining his face and…

…he was smiling?!

_Oh man, he really must have lost it!_

"I'm an idiot, Jean," Beregond said, unaware of the lieutenant's thoughts. "I've only now realised something."

"What?" Havoc asked cautiously, deciding to indulge the man.

"I didn't see Bergil in the Halls." A small chuckle escaped Beregond's lips. "He wasn't there!" There was no stopping the man now, and he seemed to keep fidgeting like a happy puppy. "It was me for my son! I saved him, Havoc! Even if only for a little while… I saved him!"

And then laughter and joyful yells filled the night air.

All Havoc could do was stare at his friend with eyes wide open, until finally a bittersweet smile tugged his lips.

Maybe everything _would_ turn out fine after all.

TBC…


	16. The Truth Behind The Truth

When Sergeant Bloch walked into the waiting hall of the hotel, the first thing he did was try to locate Second Lieutenant Ross. He soon found her sitting by a small table close to the registration desk. He walked up to her and greeted her, a gesture politely reciprocated.

"Are the Elric Brothers still in their room?" he asked.

Ross nodded and motioned the sergeant to sit down opposite her. "I doubt they're sleeping though. They've just verified Marcoh's notes. Do I need to tell you the results?"

Bloch sighed, understanding only too well. He pulled up a chair and settled down. "But don't you think they need to rest? Certainly they've overtaxed themselves," he said.

"They do, but we can't exactly force them," replied Ross with a shrug. "The research files they had worked so hard to decode turned out to be so…" She didn't continue.

The young sergeant shuddered. "It makes me sick just thinking about it." There was a small pause as Bloch contemplated something. "Maybe we should try to locate that friend of theirs. He might be able to offer his support somehow."

"I've already tried that," Ross said. "He wasn't in the office at all today. He had an appointment to the doctor's or something."

Bloch blinked. "To the doctor?" However, realisation caught up with him. "Oh, right… his wounds from battling Scar."

But Ross shook her head thoughtfully. "I'm not so sure of that. It has been almost a month since that happened."

"Something else then?" Bloch asked.

"Most likely."

Bloch bit his lower lip. "Did you tell them that?"

"No. They have enough troubles."

* * *

"You know, Al… I would probably have been happier if I hadn't learned about this," said Ed. He closed his journal with a sigh and, as he felt a headache settling in, he rested his forehead against the table he was currently sitting in front of. His arms hid his face from the rest of the world.

"And what's worse is, the military probably knew about it too," said Alphonse, who was sitting on the couch. "Dr. Marcoh was a State Alchemist, after all."

"Yeah… That's why he left; and that's why the military wanted Marcoh's notes back." It was then that Ed's hands clenched into fists. "Which means Mustang also knew everything all along and he didn't say anything, the bastard!" he said through gritted teeth.

"Brother, you don't know that," Al said.

"But I do! He knew about Marcoh, remember? I had to keep pestering him and suffer through a duel with him to finally find out the doctor's address! Then it turns out that not only did he know about the red stones, but he even used one to murder people! One of the very stones that Marcoh himself admitted of making, Al! And now you're saying that Mustang didn't know about the Philosopher's Stone? Then why would he want to keep Marcoh away from us?" Ed said in an annoyed manner. "He made us spend four years over something that he could have told us in four _minutes!_ He just wanted someone to do the dirty work for him and he could get the glory for himself!"

"Or maybe… he didn't want us faced with a choice that would cost us more than we could afford."

Ed looked up, eyes wide. "Al…?"

"Think about it, Brother. He gave you access to information that wasn't public by giving you a State license, but that was as far as he allowed you to be involved in the military. Whatever leads and missions he gave us took us as far away from the workings of the military as possible. He knew about Dr. Marcoh and the stones; I'll give you that. But Dr. Marcoh had been working on something that had been haunting him for years and he was desperately trying to get away from it; and he _trusted_ the Colonel so that he _would_ get away. Remember, Brother: the Colonel knew the address to give it to us – but not Brigadier General Grand. Don't you remember how frightened Dr. Marcoh was when that man found him?"

Ed kept staring at Al incredulously.

"Brother, whether you like it or not, whether the Colonel knew about the price for the real Philosopher's Stone or not, he was trying to protect us from having a guilty conscience like Dr. Marcoh. He was hoping we would be able to get our hands on the Philosopher's Stone without that kind of price, unlike Brigadier General Grand. Because even though the military is probably willing to sacrifice human lives, he didn't want _us_ to do that. He didn't want us to lose our souls, Brother. Because then, we wouldn't have gained anything."

Ed sat up, feeling shocked. He hadn't thought of that…

But he now realised he should, because he could still recall his last conversation with Marcoh.

"_This is the place where the research files are hidden. Look at this if you won't regret knowing the truth… Just make sure no one knows about it, not even Colonel Mustang. He can't protect me forever and I don't want him involved in this."_

He couldn't protect Marcoh anymore… Not involved in this…

So the Colonel didn't know – not as much as Ed accused him of at first anyway. Ed felt a bit guilty about it.

"_You know him?"_

"_I knew him long ago, when he had the same innocent soul that the sergeant has. That is, until he was ordered to kill two doctors because they treated Ishbalans."_

"'Then war aged him far more than his actual years,'" Ed murmured, feeling his resentment subsiding. He couldn't stay angry with someone who was haunted by memories of his own.

Al nodded, knowing what his Brother was thinking of. "And he also protected us so we wouldn't have _his_ fate." A sigh escaped from the huge armour. "I guess he figured the truth was too cruel for us to know of it."

Ed bowed his head, his bangs hiding his eyes. He hated to admit it, but Al was right; he couldn't blame Mustang for this. He was a victim of the military's politics, and he was actually trying to keep Ed from becoming one too. The truth was too cruel to know and yet he wasn't willing to listen, in spite of Mustang's subtle - yet so clear, come to think of it - warnings.

_Wait a minute…_

"The truth…"

Al tensed. "What's wrong, Brother?"

"I just remembered something Dr. Marcoh told me."

"Huh?"

"When he treated Beregond's wounds and I went to check on how he was healing," Ed explained. "He said I might be able to discover the truth behind the truth." He faced Al. "Don't you get it? There's something else!"

In a heartbeat he had walked up to the door and called downstairs to Ross and Bloch. "Hey! Is it possible I can get a map of Central up here?"

Ross and Bloch instantly stood up in salute. "Yes, Sir!"

Al still looked at his brother in an incredulous manner. "Brother, what are you hoping to find?"

Ed rubbed his hands together, pacing up and down as he waited for Ross and Bloch's return. "I'll tell you when I find it."

* * *

Beregond poured some hot tea that he had just prepared into two mugs. He put the kettle away from the gas stove and then he walked over to Havoc, who was sitting on the couch in the living room. He presented one of the mugs with a small smile.

"Thanks," Havoc said, curling his fingers around the cup and having a sip.

Beregond merely nodded as he took a sip out of his own mug; then also settled down on the couch next to Havoc.

Silence reigned for many moments, only to be broken suddenly by Beregond's voice.

"'And the man wise in his heart remembers the multitude of deadly combats long ago, and speaks these words: 'Where has the horse gone? Where the young warrior? Where the lord? How that time has gone, vanished beneath night's cover, just as if it never had been, into shadow.'"

Havoc regarded Beregond curiously. However, the Gondorian was looking out the nearby window.

"That's what one of the epic poems Syndow had written in his books says," Beregond explained, somehow sensing Havoc's question. "I never thought I'd live the day to ask such questions myself, when an Elf is more fitting to ask them."

And with that he grew silent again and took another sip of his tea.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Havoc asked cautiously.

Beregond turned, and Havoc could see a ghost of a smile on his friend's lips. "I know you probably think I'm devastated to see that everything I knew and loved has gone beyond my reach." His fingers traced the rim of the mug. "In a way… I suppose I am. And yet… I'm not."

Havoc let out a grim chuckle. "You realise you aren't making much sense now, right?"

Beregond drank the rest of the tea in a single gulp, clearly not caring that the liquid was probably too hot. "Well, for one thing, I _did_ save my son. My sacrifice wasn't in vain. And, no matter how much I miss him, or Faramir, or everyone else… well, there's a place where all souls pass. I will meet them all there. They will just have to wait for me a little while longer. It was what the Valar decided, after all."

"But, what are you to do now, if you can't go home?" Havoc asked. "That's where you had invested all your strengths and focus."

Beregond didn't answer at once. He just placed the mug in the table in front of him and then rested his elbows on his knees. He didn't look up at Havoc; his dark strands, which were now much longer since the day he had found himself in Amestris and currently free from the ponytail they were usually in, hid his face from the lieutenant's gaze.

"I've never told you how Elves die, have I?"

Havoc blinked, taken aback by the question. "You said they were immortal."

Beregond chuckled a bit; yet he spoke the next words slowly and carefully, as though they pained him as he uttered them. "But not invulnerable. It takes one of two simple things for an Elf to perish. He's either slain in battle or… he wills himself away. He simply lets his sorrow and grief break his heart and…" he waved slightly his hand, exhaling slightly, "…that's it."

There was a small pause before Havoc decided to speak. "I don't see what that has got to do with you."

Only then did Beregond turn to lock his gaze on Havoc's. Realisation hit the lieutenant and his eyes widened in disbelief.

"You? You can…?" he faltered, trying to find the right words.

Beregond saved him the trouble and nodded. "Another privilege of a Númenórean; it saves us from the embarrassment of senility at an old age, but it doesn't have to be the only reason." His voice lowered as he continued on, whereas his gaze became slightly unfocused. "All I have to do is will it strongly enough… and it would be over before you'd catch me as I'd collapse."

Havoc stared at his companion for many long moments, feeling the mental image of the Gondorian suddenly falling dead right then and there penetrating his mind mercilessly and sending shivers of horror down his spine. He reached with trembling hands for Beregond's form and clasped both the Gondorian's shoulders as firmly as he could so that he _didn't._

Beregond merely shook his head and looked back at Havoc.

"But, you see… that would be the easy way out. The Imperishable Flame – our soul - is a gift of the Valar that isn't given in vain. To consider anyone worthy of it, it means that it has something to offer in the world in return."

"So what you're saying is that you don't want to anger your gods by throwing your life away," Havoc said. He shook his head. "No offence, but if you're to stay alive, don't do it for them! They're the ones that sent you here in the first place."

"Which is precisely why I must, in part, do it for them," Beregond said. He stood up and walked up to the window, once again looking at the night sky. "For the last few hours I've kept wondering the same thing over and over again: Why me? Why _now?_ And the only answer I could come up with is that I wouldn't be sent here, an intruder in your world, if I weren't supposed to fulfil a certain task because no one else will." He turned to face the lieutenant. "Havoc, don't you see? As long as I breathe, I have yet something left undone. Letting myself die is like running away from my responsibilities, and I have never done that before to start now."

Havoc listened on, not sure what to make of Beregond's words. They had so much faith and yet… what if that faith was based on just wishful thinking? On a single thread of hope that might also snap if proved false?

Well, let it be. Because the day Beregond would give up, he would also die – quite literally. And Havoc didn't want that.

"So what's your next step now?" he asked.

"Central. That's where Edward and Alphonse are. They need to know the truth and there's my promise I have to keep. I've stayed here waiting for too long."

Havoc nodded his understanding. "Did you tell the Boss?"

"He's already given me permission to go," Beregond said. "And I plan on leaving as soon as possible."

At that moment, Havoc decided to point out something very important.

"You do know that the fastest way to reach Central is via _train?_"

"Do you delight in reminding me?" the Gondorian said glumly, his shoulders slumping forward and bowing his head. Havoc could have sworn that there was even a large, single drop of sweat near his friend's temple. "But if I went through a death experience, I don't suppose I can complain about _that_ anymore," Beregond reasoned in a muttering tone.

Havoc didn't speak for several moments before grinning broadly. "You won't have to either."

Beregond snapped his head up and locked his gaze on Havoc. "No?"

"No. Because I'll come with you," Havoc explained, still grinning. "Heck, someone has to make sure you don't get lost on the way."

Beregond's face lit up. But, at the next instant, the Gondorian froze in realisation and then raised his eyebrow in a questioning manner. "Is that the only reason you want to come with me?"

Havoc looked down, his hands seeming _very_ interesting all of a sudden. "Well, it's a nice opportunity for me to see Sarah…" his voice trailed off, but his tease was quite evident.

"I knew it! Why did I ever set you up with her?" Beregond declared, throwing his arms in the air and plopping himself down on the couch next to the lieutenant as he feigned dismay.

At the next moment, however, he was laughing softly.

* * *

In a matter of moments, Bloch and Ross had handed the map to Ed. The young alchemist gave them a brief "Thanks!" and quickly unrolled the map on the table nearby. Everyone sat around, so they would be able to see what Ed was doing.

"I don't understand," Bloch said before he could help himself. "What are you looking for?"

Ed still kept looking at the map. "There are currently four alchemical laboratories within Central that work for the military. I passed though all of them after I got my State license, yet none of them looked like they were doing any research that was all that important. Nevertheless…" At that, Ed paused mid-sentence. He pointed at a square that was painted red.

"This one… what's that building?"

Ross looked at the map were Ed's index finger was now resting. "That building used to be Lab 5. It's currently an unused deserted building though. No one is allowed there, because there is a danger of collapsing."

"It's that one," Ed said at once.

"Huh? How did you come to that conclusion?" Bloch asked.

"There's a prison next to it," Ed answered. "To make the Philosopher's Stone, they need to use living humans as raw materials. That means they need a place where they're _supplied_ with raw materials." Ed crossed his arms. "Now that I think about it, executed death-row inmates don't have their remains returned to their families. The public are told that they're put to death on the gallows within the prison, but… it seems more likely that, while still alive, they're secretly moved to the lab. Over there, they're used for experiments for the Philosopher's Stone. Makes sense, doesn't it?"

But Bloch and Ross had paled considerably in the meantime and weren't able to answer at once.

"The inmates… are the raw materials…" said the woman weakly.

Ed sighed, but he couldn't blame her really. _He_ was feeling sick by just explaining.

"Just a minute," Bloch said then nervously. "Considering that this is a prison, what if that means the government has some involvement in this? Maybe… maybe we've just poked our necks too far into something too big!"

"Wait, let's not be hasty here, Sergeant," Ross said, finally regaining her composure. "That's the ultimate speculation you're suggesting. The State may have no connection to this. Whatever research organisation is behind it may have acted independently."

"That's true," Ed said, seeing Ross' point.

"So who's in charge of this research organisation?" asked Al then.

"That would be Brigadier General Basque Grand."

Ed and Al gasped and looked at Ross incredulously.

"Is something the matter?" she asked, not really understanding.

"That can't be right! Grand was murdered by Scar weeks ago!"

Now it was Ross and Bloch's turn to look shocked.

"Are you sure about this?" asked the woman.

"Sure hardly cuts it!" Ed answered. "He died in front of me!"

"But how is it possible that the research goes on?" Ross exclaimed. "The whole operation should have been terminated automatically with Grand's death!"

"Someone has taken his place then?" Bloch asked apprehensively.

Ross sighed. "Then it's inevitable that this will become complicated." She instantly arose, her eyes reflecting her determination. "Sergeant Bloch and I will look into this matter and inform you later. Until then, you two have to stay put."

"WHAT?!" both brothers exclaimed at once.

Now that was clearly suspicious to Ross and Bloch, so they looked hard at the boys.

"You were thinking of going there and investigating, weren't you?!" Ross asked, her voice austere.

The brothers flinched. "No, we weren't!" they said, shaking their heads emphatically.

"You'd better not! Even if they do experiments on the Philosopher's Stone there, a child should not do such dangerous things!" Ross said, still lecturing.

"Okay, we get it! We won't do anything dangerous like that!" Ed declared.

"We'll just have to wait for what you have to report," Al seconded politely.

Ross still regarded them with a raised eyebrow for a few moments. Deciding that she could trust them, she nodded slightly.

"All right. Now, you'll have to excuse the sergeant and me; we have to make some phone-calls." And with that, she beckoned Sergeant Bloch to follow her downstairs.

A minute passed… two… and then Ed walked up to the door and pricked up his ears to listen to any sound of footsteps. As soon as he decided there were none to be heard, he rushed to the window and opened it wide.

"Like hell we will," he declared under his breath. He pointed at the beds. "Al, grab those sheets! We're getting out of here!"

Al complied.

* * *

Beregond still lay on the couch, the blanket that usually covered him at nights now tossed aside. His gaze was fixed on nothing in particular, and he could easily hear Jean's gentle snoring from the inner room.

He smiled inwardly. He had appreciated the lieutenant's decision to stay in a wish to keep the Gondorian some company, but Havoc was clearly very tired. And then there was the matter that Havoc would have to wake up early in order to phone the office and ask the Colonel permission to leave for a few days _and_ go to his home and pack his bags. So, Beregond made Alphonse's bed for him in order to get as much rest as possible. They didn't have to worry about catching an early train; those things _were_ fast, no matter how much the Gondorian hated to admit it. If they took the express at 11 o'clock in the morning, they would be in Central in about twelve hours.

And yet Beregond still couldn't sleep. Uncomfortable thoughts had entered his mind and there was nothing he could do to get rid of them - thoughts concerning the boys. Beregond was almost certain that Edward and Alphonse had found out what it took to create the Philosopher's stone. Their depressive mood Sarah had described to him over the phone spoke only too clearly for that.

_How did they cope with it?_ Beregond kept thinking. Did _they cope with it?_ Now, more than ever, Beregond wished whole-heartedly that he were with them. He would have tried to help somehow.

_And keep them from doing anything stupid,_ he added in his mind. Good alchemists or not, prodigies or not, they were still young, and they were driven by a desperate goal.

He turned on his side and looked out the window once more. He could still see some stars, even though a few clouds veiled most of the sky.

_Please let them be safe till I get to Central… _

_I have so much to tell them._

* * *

Using the cloak of night as cover, Ed and Al hurried through the streets, making sure they wouldn't be noticed by anyone. Finally, they reached the building they both knew could only be Lab 5.

Ed got ready to rush at the entrance, but Al stopped him and dragged him on the side-wall. Deciding to be cautious this time, Ed looked around the corner and saw what alarmed his little brother.

"A guard standing in front of an 'unused' building, huh?" he muttered. Indeed, he could now see the armed soldier's silhouette quite clearly.

"Suspicious, isn't it?" whispered Al. "The question is, how do we get in now?"

"Make ourselves an entrance?" Ed whispered back with a shrug.

But Alphonse shook his head at once. "The guard will spot us from the light of the transmutation reaction."

"Good point," Ed said. "Then that only leaves…" His gaze locked at the top of the wall.

Al understood. Interlacing his fingers so that his hands formed a convenient step, he nodded to Ed to go for it. The moment Ed placed a foot on the hands, Al catapulted him upwards with enough force so that his brother would land on the top of the wall, next to the barbed wire.

Not wanting to admit that there were times like those he was glad he had automail, Ed tore the barbed wire off its place and made a long enough 'rope' for Alphonse so that he could climb up also. Seeing that the wire was strong enough to hold his brother's weight, Edward took a dive on the other side of the wall and landed with a light thudding sound on the ground.

He cursed under his breath when he saw the inner entrance; for there were large boards and chains on it, sealing it shut also.

"Damn it… Now what?"

Just then, his gaze drifted to another, smaller opening on the wall. It was an air duct.

He signalled to Al to help him up. Al did just that and, once within reach, Ed pulled the duct open in order to look inside.

"Looks like it goes all the way to the end," he said thoughtfully. He measured the size of the opening for a moment before he pulled himself upwards. "Al, wait over here."

Al tensed. "Are you going to be okay by yourself?" he asked worriedly.

"It's not as much as being okay. Your huge body isn't going to be able to get in through here," Ed reasoned.

That made Al stomp his leg in a pouting manner. "It's not like I wanted to be this big!"

Ed froze at those words and bit his lower lip. "Al…"

The suit of armour looked at Ed in a curious manner. "Yeah, Brother?"

Ed couldn't help it, he swallowed hard. "There's this thing, see… something I've been meaning to tell you…"

Al's flickers of eyes grew bigger in surprise. "Now?! Brother, we don't have time for this!"

Ed didn't speak for several moments. In the end, he shook his head.

"Okay, you're right. We'll talk about it later." And with that, he hoisted himself inside the air duct. "I'll be back in a few!" he added, his voice echoing mildly inside the vent.

Within seconds, he was gone.

* * *

The room was quiet and dark. In fact, the only light that could be seen was coming from the street lamps outside and, naturally, it still wasn't enough to illuminate much.

Nevertheless, the shadow lurking inside was able to wander about easily. It paced up and down the room, able to avoid whatever debris was laid in its path in a habitual ease; its eyes glimmered eerily as they reflected the little light.

"48! Hey!"

The shadow stopped on his tracks and turned at the sound of the voice. "What is it, 66?" it asked, annoyed.

"We've got some rare guests!" the voice said again, a small chuckling sound echoing throughout the room.

That caught the shadow's attention.

"Really? Do these ones look like they will provide some sort of entertainment?"

"I'm not expecting much," the other answered. "Two guys; a shorty and a piggy freak in armour."

"'Freak?" the first shadow echoed sceptically. "Of all the people, you are saying that?"

There was no answer but a cackling sound that resembled laughter.

"Tell you what: I'll let you take the shorty…"

Suddenly, the blade of a butcher knife glistened threateningly.

"… and _I'm_ gonna mince up that piggy!"

* * *

_Let's see… Fullmetal must be somewhere about here._

At that moment, he caught sight of the name of the hotel. That was the place. Moving cautiously, he approached the ground floor window and dared a peek inside.

_Two soldiers. It will be easy bypassing them._

Without going inside, Scar walked to the side of the wall in an attempt to locate the brothers' room.

Though he got injured and had not even fully recovered, he had no intention of abandoning his plan of revenge that easily. The alchemists had to be destroyed. So, the moment that he was strong enough and using the slum as his haunt, Scar started with his hunt again. It was easy for him to circulate undetected – it was what had helped him survive during the Ishbal Massacre in the first place.

And then, he accidentally heard news of a young alchemist being in Central with a metallic giant for company… and he saw his chance.

_This would be quite gratifying._ The Elric boy had lived long enough.

He looked up and saw a window on the first floor wide open, but it wasn't that that made him stop on his tracks in surprise.

It was the bed-sheets that were forming an improvised rope.

Unsure what to make of it, Scar tugged on the 'rope' a couple of times, making sure that it was tied securely, and then hoisted himself upwards to the room.

_Empty. Well, well, what are you up to, Fullmetal?_

Pricking his ears so that he detected any sound outside the room, he started looking around in the hopes of finding any clues as to his young prey's whereabouts.

He didn't have to look far enough. A map was still rolled open on the table. And a pin was nailed on a red square on the map.

_Lab 5…_

Scar smiled.

_Found you._

_TBC..._


	17. Soul Of The Guardian

Ed still shuffled within the duct, letting out a huff every few minutes at the effort. His progress was quite slow, albeit steady, but the quiet soon started growing heavy for the young alchemist. Soon enough, discretion was thrown into the air, and Ed even started talking himself, an old habit of his since childhood.

"Damn. It's more cramped here than I thought." He paused for a few moments to and looked ahead in the hopes of finding anything that resembled an exit from the duct. "A normal-sized person wouldn't be able to get through here. I'm glad my body was small enough--"

He instantly froze in realisation – only to start flailing wildly in spite of the narrow space he was in.

"I can't believe I just said that about myself!"

But the damage was done. All that Ed could do now was simply carry on, chiding himself for his stupid slip of the tongue.

It was then that he caught sight of a grate. Hoping that he was going the right way, Ed crawled up to it and looked through. He was certainly relieved when he noticed that he had reached the interior of the lab.

"Okay…" he murmured, using his automail hand to punch the grate off. "Here I go." He jumped down, landing on his feet with the grace of a cat, and then started looking around. "Hmm… There's enough lighting for me to see ahead," he commented, noticing the weakly luminous lights that decorated the floor. He snorted. "'Currently not in use', my eye…"

He looked to his right, where there was a small corridor and another, brighter light at the end of it.

"This must lead to another room," Ed decided.

And so, mustering all his courage, he started walking towards it.

* * *

Al paced up and down close to the open air-duct. Though it probably seemed otherwise, he was still on alert, his gaze shifting from the entrance to the sealed door by the outside wall. After all, he didn't want to be caught by the guard or have any other such kind of unpleasant surprises.

But the wait was becoming quite nerve-racking. It had already been ten minutes since Ed climbed that air duct and there was still no sign of him.

A sigh reverberated through his armour and he kicked a small stone in frustration.

"He's late," he murmured, and then resumed with his pacing.

He never saw the large bulk of shadow lurking on the roof or the butcher knife glistening under the moonlight. However, he heard a small cackling sound that warned Al of the danger he was in. In a single fluid motion, the suit of armour moved aside in a defensive stance.

It was not a moment too soon. The butcher knife buried itself deep into the ground on the spot Al was previously standing.

But Al didn't have the luxury to worry about _that_. He was more concerned about the wielder of the butcher knife, because he was in a suit of armour; an ugly one at that. It was clothed in animal's skin and it had a grotesque skull instead of a helmet.

"Who are you?!" Al exclaimed before he could help it.

The other just laughed. "Okay, okay. For a big guy, you're pretty quick. This wouldn't be any fun if you weren't." And with that, he pulled the butcher knife out of the ground with a violent yank; then turned to Al, a smug poise in his stance. "You asked me who I am, so I'll tell you. I'm number 66. This is only the name I go by when I'm working though. I've got a real name, but you'll cower once you hear it." Another cackling sound emanated from Number 66. "I'll tell you when I finish you off."

Al looked at the other armour, feeling perplexed as his young, innocent soul tried to decode the implication of that sentence. "You mean… you're going to kill me?"

66 laughed again. "No… I'll only take you apart nice and clean. Now don't worry…" He held up threateningly his butcher knife.

"… just scream!"

* * *

Ed walked through the room, keeping his steps cautious and wary. His eyes strained to catch anything out of the ordinary, but there was nothing; just debris upon debris.

And yet… the place was almost _too_ quiet, something that the boy didn't like at all.

"If this is where the experiments with the Philosopher's Stone are being conducted, shouldn't there be any guards?" he murmured, frowning.

"But there are."

Ed jumped back, startled at the voice. Then there was the echoing sound of footfalls, approaching; and Ed was dismayed to see a guard in giant armour walking out of the shadows. Pieces of cloth covered most of the metal parts, and he was wielding an elegant warrior's sword in his hands.

Ed now knew that this wasn't good. His hands clenched into fists and watched the guard warily.

"I don't know where a kid like you came from, but you seem like you want to learn more about the stone," the guard said. "_I_ am one of those who were left with the task of guarding this place. For now, call me number 48. I am ordered to remove all outsiders that enter." He held up his sword in an attack position. "Don't think badly of me, kid."

"Ditto," snorted Ed, removing his glove. In a matter of seconds, he had clapped his hands and transmuted his automail arm into a blade. "Don't feel bad about losing to a kid."

However, 48 looked at Ed in what seemed to be mild surprise. "That's Alchemy," he noted. Still, it was clear that it would take more than that to truly daunt him. "Come on then. Show me what you can do!"

And with that, 48 rushed ahead, slashing viciously. Ed ducked out of harm's way at the last moment before his head got cut off.

_Damn it! He's fast!_ Ed thought. Yet he wasn't willing to give up without a fight. Being fast himself, he managed to block several hits, until 48 managed a downward slash down on his arm.

Ed's _right_ arm, fortunately. The only damage Ed got was a severely torn sleeve, which revealed the rest of the automail arm.

"It goes up all the way to your shoulder, eh? That has just saved your life," 48 commented, getting ready for another series of attacks. "But my blade can cut even through steel!"

"Don't joke around!" Ed hissed through gritted teeth, blocking the guard's sword again. "My mechanic's gonna kill me if this gets broken again!" And with that, he used his automail leg to manage a kick on 48. There was an echoing clank at the impact, and his opponent was sent almost kneeling to the ground.

Wait a minute… _echoing clank?_

Ed locked his gaze on the guard, smiling smugly as he realised that he discovered something very important.

"You can't possibly… be hollow on the inside?" he asked.

48 set himself upright again. "I'm surprised. You found out quickly."

"I spar a lot with a guy like you. I could tell by how that kick just felt," Ed explained, deciding that he could indulge his opponent just this once.

48 certainly seemed surprised at this as well. "So there's someone else like me on the surface," he said thoughtfully.

On the other hand, Ed didn't like that at all. The thought that there was actually another one who would think about bonding a soul onto a suit of armour was disturbing, to say the least.

"Very well," 48 said then, lowering his sword. "I'll introduce myself once more. The 48 of my name is my death-row number. When I was alive…" He stopped and sighed. "When I had a body of flesh, that is, I was a killer that was called "Slicer" by the public. To the rest of the world, I was executed two years ago."

Ed eyed the armour carefully from head to toe. "So… where's the seal that serves as medium between your soul and the armour?"

"Ah! It's so nice to see that I don't need to explain everything. I don't know much about Alchemy myself, but it seems the blood is connected to the soul. Then the iron inside the blood is synchronised to the metal of the armour," 48 said. With one graceful movement, he had removed the cloth that covered the lower part of his mask, and then opened the helmet to reveal on the back a small, bloody array. "Yes. This is my head's blood seal. Destroy this and you win."

Ed grinned. "Thanks for telling me your weak point. You're a nice old guy."

"Well, I'm just the sort of person who likes to break the tension during a fight," 48 laughed. "And I'm not old, just so you know."

"And since you're being so kind, you wouldn't mind letting me go like I am now… right?" Ed ventured, still grinning mischievously.

"Tut, tut… Would a killer ignore his prey and let it escape?" 48 said. "Now…" and at that he raised his sword again, "I will come at you!"

And with no other word, he lunged again. His attacks were so powerful and brutal that it took all of Ed's skill to parry them.

It was then that it happened. It was a momentary feeling, but it was enough for Ed to realise something was _very_ wrong.

His shoulder caved in.

_Oh no…_ Even now, Ed could hear Winry's voice echoing in his mind.

_This new automail will make you faster, but it's easier to break too, so don't be reckless._

Ed winced and blocked another attack.

_I'm going to be in trouble if I don't end this soon!_

He ducked when the sword was about to cut through his face and then, using his left hand for support, did a back flip to avoid the next attack. Though he was quick, 48 found the moment right then to slash at the one thing that was vulnerable - his left shoulder.

The blood flowed out freely and the wound hurt like hell, much to Ed's dismay. What was worse, in that moment of distraction, 48 managed a hit near his temple.

Gritting his teeth at the pain, Ed quickly corrected himself. He wasn't going to be in trouble; he _was_ in trouble already. But he had to keep fighting, if he were to stay alive.

Eyes widening, he saw the sword getting ready for another hit, and he quickly backed away. He noticed 48's leg throwing him off balance too late, and the next moment he was on his back.

Groaning in anger, Ed brought himself to his feet in the blink of an eye and got ready to fight again.

That, surprisingly enough, made 48 laugh.

"You're just like a monkey."

Ed felt himself blazing with fury. "What did you say?!" he exclaimed, his panting hardly diminishing the snarling tone in his voice.

"Only that I'm happy to have a worthy and energetic prey," 48 explained, lowering his sword again. "But with your wounds and fatigue, I can see where this fight will lead. As for your companion, he's most probably taken care of by my friend right now. You can't hope he'll come and save you."

Ed didn't reply at once. He just brought himself to his full height and locked his gaze on 48. "Is that friend of yours strong?" he asked.

"He's strong, though weaker than me," 48 said with a nod.

"I've got nothing to worry about then," Ed answered with a grin, wiping the blood off his lower lip with the back of his flesh hand. "My 'companion' as you put it… I've fought him plenty of times and I've never beaten him once."

* * *

Al landed another fist on the skull-shaped face of his opponent; then a kick; and by the time 66 had landed on the ground, he was in a defensive position again.

"Son of a…" 66 brought himself back on his feet and lunged once more, striking now blindly with his butcher knife. And the more blocks that Al managed, an echoing _clank_ emanating at every impact, the more angry 66 was becoming.

"Just…" _clank_ "… get…" _clank_ "… sliced…" _clank_ "…piggy!"

_Clank_.

66 landed on his back again, only to stand up again and attack.

"Hold still, will you? It won't hurt a bit!"

Al stepped back as he parried another blow with his arm. "You may say that, but…"

He never finished his sentence; his heel hit a stone and it made him lose his balance. Though Al regained it again in a moment's breath, 66 proved faster. Getting out a smaller knife, he used it to stab Alphonse at the elbow, pinning him in place like a large fish on a harpoon.

"Lucked out!" 66 cried out triumphantly; he raised his butcher knife, laughing maniacally. "I'm gonna get some roast shoulder!"

But Al just flexed his arm, his superhuman strength making the small knife break in two; then managed another punch squarely on 66's jaw while the latter was too busy being stunned.

When 66's head fell off at the hit, however, it was Al's turn to feel flabbergasted.

"Bastard! Why did you do that for?" 66 said. His arms started fumbling around for his head, while he kept muttering what could only be translated as, "Stupid head."

Al just kept staring at him until he managed to pick up his head.

"Your body…" he started. But he couldn't continue. He was in too much of a shock.

66 just chuckled, playing with the head as though it were a mere ball. "There's a little reason for that," he said. "Let me put this back on and I'll explain."

Al, being the courteous soul that he was, let 66 go ahead.

"Ah, good," declared the skull-headed armour, once his head was back in place. "Now… I'll tell you about this old story - you've probably heard of it. Once upon a time, there was in Central City an old butcher named Barry. Barry loved slicing up meat. But one day, cows and pigs weren't enough for Barry anymore, so he started to roam the city night after night and took ipeople/i apart. By the time Barry was arrested, twenty-three people had become his victims, thus striking fear in the hearts of the citizens of Central. That man was sent to the gallows, of course. All's well that ends well, right?

"But the truth is: the story didn't stop there. What they say about Barry dying in the gallows is just a story for the public. He avoided the death penalty on the condition of being guardsman for a certain place. However, in exchange, he would lose his flesh and have his soul bound to an iron body."

And with that, 66 started laughing again.

"And you know what? He's right in front of you! _I'm_ Barry the Chopper!"

Al instantly tensed. "I remember you! You were ready to kill my brother!" he cried.

"Eh, what's that?" Barry asked in surprise. "I killed everybody except… a small boy with an iron arm."

Al was almost certain that Ed would appear right then, flailing and shouting: "_Who are you calling so small that he gets crushed by his own automail?!_"

"That was your brother?" Barry kept on thoughtfully. "Odd resemblance, I have to say. Why would you want to wear armour?"

Al decided that just showing would suffice, so he pulled out his own head.

It was amazing to see a notorious serial killer screaming.

"WHAT'S WITH THAT BODY, YOU WEIRDO?!"

_That hurt,_ Al thought with a sigh.

Finally, Barry calmed down, and his fright was replaced by curiosity – and a bit of relief.

"What do you know… a fellow death-row inmate. You had me shaking there." Another chuckle emanated from his armour.

Now _that_ was too much! "I'm not a criminal!" Al shouted, offended.

"Oh? Then why are you like that?" Barry asked.

"There's a little reason for this, too," Al said, placing his head back in his shoulders. "After my body was gone, my brother transmuted my soul in here."

Barry stared at Al for several moments; then laughed. "I see."

But there was something in that tone that made Al nervous. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing really," Barry replied, waving his hand dismissively. "So… do you trust your brother?"

"Of course!" Alphonse answered at once. "He put his life on the line to save mine!"

Barry laughed again. "Ah, the love of brothers is truly a beautiful thing…" His eyes glimmered.

"…even if it is _false_ love!"

Al gasped before he could help it. "What do you mean?" he demanded.

"Well," Barry said, "are you really brothers?"

It took a lot for Al to get angry, true; but now he felt his temper was put harshly to the test.

"Okay, our personalities really differ. And even when I was back in my real body I was taller than my brother, though I'm younger than him. That _doesn't_ mean--!"

"No, no, I didn't meant _that!_" Barry said at once. "What I mean is: what if you're a fake? An imitation? How would you know the difference?"

Al's wrath vanished and treacherous confusion settled instead. "The… there's no way that can be true! I'm definitely the soul of a human being called Alphonse Elric!"

Barry just scoffed. "What the hell is a soul? How do you prove that something which can't be described or seen exists? Your brother, the people around you, _everybody's_ probably tricking you!" He pointed a finger at Alphonse. "That's right! Where's the proof that that person you are talking about really existed? Where's the flesh?"

Al just stared, the words making him feel numb inside. He couldn't believe that! Brother would never do that to him!

And then other words penetrated his mind, shaking his very core.

_There's this thing, see… something I've been meaning to tell you…_

No…

It couldn't be… Before he could help it, he recalled a young boy, running side by side his brother, holding a clay doll in his hands; a woman, soft and sweet, caressing his face and smiling; a little blond girl playing with him.

_All those memories out of my childhood… were never real?_

No! "Then what about you?!" Al cried, desperately clinging to logic.

"Hey! This is a restricted area! Leave immediately!" said another voice. It was the military guard, now aiming his rifle at the two suits of armour.

"Oh, shut up you!" And with a swift swing of his arm, Barry made short work of the guard – he split his head in two with the butcher knife. "What about me, was it?" he asked, not minding the pool of blood that was forming where the guard had fallen, or Al flinching at the sight. "That's simple! I love cutting the meat of living people! There's nothing better for me than killing. I kill, therefore I am! _This_ is the proof that I exist! I'm satisfied with just that!"

It was all that Al could take. He clenched his hands in an attempt to stop them from trembling so violently, but it was of no use.

In the end, he just lunged for the attack with a harsh, desperate cry.

* * *

Number 48 walked towards Ed, his sword lowered. He shook his head at the boy's stubbornness and, when he spoke, his tone was quite patronising.

"Even if your companion defeats my friend and comes for you, this building was built like a maze. He would waste a great deal of time arriving here."

Ed smirked. "And your point is?" His eyes locked momentarily on 48. "AL! DO IT NOW!"

48 turned around in surprise, sword at hand. By the time the armour realised he had been tricked, Ed rushed forward and swung his automail to cut the helmet off the rest of the body. Both helmet and body fell with a thunderous clattering sound before Ed's eyes.

"That was a cheap shot," the head commented from the place he had landed.

Ed just wiped some sweat and blood off his face. "Someone told me once that there's no such thing as a cheap shot in a fight." And with quite the businesslike manner, he transmuted his automail back to its normal arm-shape. "Time to move on."

"Well?" the head said. "You haven't destroyed my blood seal yet. Hurry up and…" Ed just picked him up from the feathering of his helmet, as though a cat would hold a mouse from its tail.

"Because your soul is in here, the main body is only a lump of metal once detached from you; so there's no rush. Besides, there's something I want to ask you."

"About the Philosopher's Stone, I presume?" the head said huffily.

"You catch on fast," Ed commented, grinning. "Now show me where they're making it."

"I can't tell you."

"Hey, a loser isn't supposed to be resisting!" Ed said, shaking the head slightly to make his point.

The head, however, just laughed. "No dice. You see… I haven't lost yet."

Ed's eyes widened. Suddenly, something _else_ that Mustang had told him surfaced in his mind.

_All war is deception. Think your enemy has a weakness, and it becomes his strength._

Uh oh…

He was about to find out just how right the bastard was, wasn't he?

He made a small motion in unease… and it was then that he cried out in pain, the feeling of being skewered mentally tearing him asunder. Dropping the helmet, he looked down at himself in shock.

The blade of the sword, now coloured red with his blood, had just cut deeply his left side of his torso. If he didn't have the sense to move even that little, it would have completely run his stomach through.

_How…?_ He turned around, his automail hand clutching his wound as though in an attempt to stop any more blood from flowing out. He was staggered to see the body of the armour in fighting position, sword in hand.

"That's… impossible!"

The body just laughed. "Quite possible, actually. There doesn't have to be just one soul in a suit of armour."

The head chuckled as well. "How forgetful of me. I didn't tell you that the killer named 'Slicer' was actually a team of _two_ brothers."

Breathing heavily, Ed struggled to keep himself standing. "Separate seals for head and body! That's cheating!" he managed to say hoarsely.

"I believe someone said there's no such thing as cheap shots in a fight," the head pointed out.

"Besides, our main job is to get rid of any intruders any way possible. So don't take it personally," the body said. "Now, before any more fighting, I'll tell you where my blood-seal is, just like my older brother did." And with that, he pointed at a small array at the back part of his metallic neck. "It's over there. Aim right and you win. Except…" and as he said that, the body of armour made a motion as though scrutinising Ed's condition, "… judging by your shaky stance, it looks like you won't be able to."

With every breath of his a pang of pain, Ed looked at his flesh hand. It was trembling. And his legs did their damnedest not to buckle from under him.

_I really_ am _shaky. I've lost too much blood. _

_But I can't afford to lose!_

"Don't underestimate me," he said with as much strength as he could; then clapped.

"Oh, no, you don't. I'm not going to give you the chance to transmute!" the body said. And in a flash, he had reached Ed and managed a sharp blow on the boy's already injured side with the hilt of his sword.

Tears sprang up involuntarily as the pain that coursed through Ed like electric current racked his insides. His legs gave a violent shiver, and it would seem that Ed would collapse right there and then.

He didn't. He staggered back, his body demanding a support; until he rested himself against a wall. He winced to see the trail of blood that he left behind.

_This is really bad…_

And then another thought crept in his mind.

_Am I going to die here?_

He gasped, for more reasons than just being out of breath.

_Was that how Beregond felt?_

He closed his eyes momentarily, memories springing involuntarily. Memories of Beregond, bleeding profusely from his side and using a wall as support in order to stand, just as Ed did now; of Scar, holding up his right arm and placing it on the Gondorian's head and saying that sickening word: _Die!_ ; Al broken apart; while Ed himself could do nothing but watch in shock.

"Damn it…" he breathed out; then clapped.

"I told you I wouldn't give you the time to transmute!" the body cried out and rushed ahead, sword ready to stab the young alchemist.

The only thing that the sword stabbed was the wall. The boy himself had bowed his head low enough to escape death and placed his automail hand on Number 48's torso.

"You know…" Ed said weakly, "I've just remembered this horrible guy."

At the next instant, the torso was torn asunder, pieces of armour flying here and there. The feet fell limp on the floor; whereas the rest of the body was thrown a few feet away, the sword still in hand.

"Incredible…" the helmet murmured.

"Damn… you really did quite the damage to me, kid!" the body said from where he fell.

Ed didn't have the luxury to say anything. He simply let go, and collapsed in a heap on the floor too, his body shaking with fatigue. When his eyes caught sight of the legs, he gave them a weak kick.

"You're not… going to say something like… 'There were really _three_ brothers!'… right?" he said, his breathing coming out in short gasps.

"No, no," both brothers said at once. "This time you truly win," the helmet added.

"Okay," Ed said, trying to regain his composure. "So take me to the room where they make the Philosopher's Stone."

"I can't tell you, kid," the helmet said. "Just destroy us."

"He's right. You must destroy us. There's nothing for the defeated but death. That is our rule."

Ed waved his flesh hand dismissively. "I'm not killing anyone. That's not what I do."

"You're too kind with your words, calling us anyone and not anything; as if we could still be called human in this twisted state," the helmet said. "I didn't say kill, I said destroy. Destroy these things we've become."

"To do that, I'd have to admit you aren't human," Ed retorted. "And for me to do that, I'd have to say the same for my brother and I can't do that."

The helmet didn't speak at once; he was clearly realising something. "Your companion… is your brother."

Ed nodded tiredly. "My brother is a human being and you guys are too."

"Human being…" the helmet answered, a wry chuckle emanating from him. "From the time we could tell right from wrong, we brothers stole, destroyed and killed. We were labelled as savages and outcasts, and thus lived. It's intriguing to be treated like human beings for the first time ever, after throwing away our bodies rather than our hearts."

It was then that the body of the armour spoke again. "Brother… you should tell him what he wants to know."

"We'll be punished."

"We'll be punished anyway for being totally useless in terminating an intruder. And…" the voice was clearly faltering now. "We've already died once. It's too late to be afraid."

Suddenly, the sword was wielded one more time... and the younger brother ran the blade through his array.

"I'm going ahead," was the last thing he said; then his hand loosened the grip on the sword and fell with a small thud on the floor, motionless.

Ed remained staring, unable to grasp what he had just witnessed. Only the saddened sigh echoing from the helmet managed to bring him back to reality and make him look upwards.

"He was right. Kid, I'll fulfil my little brother's last wish. I'll take you where they make the Philosopher's Stone."

Ed bowed his head.

He never saw a pair of glimmering eyes, peering at him through the darkness of the room.

_TBC…_


	18. Old Acquaintances

"We've been had!"

1st Lieutenant Ross quickly rushed inside, looking at the empty room; then outside the window.

"No wonder it was so quiet," she muttered under her breath. She slapped the windowsill in frustration. "Damn it! Why can't they think things from our standpoint?"

"Oh, man…" Bloch said mournfully. "Major Armstrong is going to scream at us for not doing our job!"

Ross didn't answer to that. She turned around and hurried outside instead.

"Come on! We've got to tell the others!"

* * *

The phone rang once, twice… until finally, with a small groan and not even bothering to open his eyes, Maes rolled over on his bed to get closer to the nightstand and picked up the telephone.

"Hughes," he said sleepily. He sighed when he heard a familiar voice. "Major, do you have any idea what time it is?"

At the next moment, he had bolted upright and grabbed his glasses, putting them on in a fervent rush.

"I'm coming right now! Assemble a rescue team as fast as you can!" And with that, he hung up and got himself out of bed.

"Honey?" Gracia said, turning to catch sight of her husband. Her sleepiness hardly hid her concern as she watched him putting on his uniform in such a rush. "What's happened?"

"Trouble at the office, I'm afraid," Maes answered. Giving the final touches to his uniform and buttoning his military jacket, he walked up to his wife and pressed his lips gently on her forehead. "This shouldn't take too long. Go back to sleep, Gracia."

And with that, he rushed out - being extra careful not to disturb Elysia's sleep as he passed by her room.

* * *

_There's this thing, see… something I've been meaning to tell you…_

Alphonse couldn't help but replay those words within his mind, even though he knew he should be paying attention to the fight at hand. What was Ed trying to say? And, more importantly, why now?

And then other words echoed treacherously, triggering a kind of fear he hadn't realised resided within him.

_What if you are a fake? An imitation?_

The clank of the butcher knife brought him back to reality, and Al was surprised to see that Barry had managed a cut on his upper arm.

"Well, what's wrong? Why did you suddenly slow down?" Barry asked, only to laugh in a mocking manner at the next moment. "Your soul might have been artificially created, but it doesn't look perfect to me. You're trembling at the idea that I might be right, is that it?"

Al caught himself faltering. "Sh… SHUT UP!"

But Barry attacked again, this time bringing himself so close to Al that, if they had noses, they would be touching.

"Just accept it. You'll feel better!"

Al froze. That was a mistake that cost him, because Barry managed to punch him on his torso. Such was the other armour's force that Al knelt down in shock.

It was the chance that Barry had been waiting for.

"Now you're wide-open, piggy!" he laughed, raising the butcher knife for the kill.

All Al could do was watch his doom fast approaching… and then pieces of armour flying at every direction.

However, they weren't his own. Because it was at that moment that a hand Al had hoped he'd never see again had grabbed Barry's arm and made it explode. Al turned, and there before him was the owner of the hand himself.

"Scar…"

Barry arose from where he had fallen, his right arm now missing, and looked at the newcomer incredulously. "And who are _you_ supposed to be?" he demanded.

Scar regarded Barry coldly. "I'm looking for the Fullmetal Alchemist. You're standing in the way."

"And _you_ had to butt in just when I was having fun!" Barry retorted in annoyance. "What was that guard doing--?"

He didn't continue, because he caught sight of the body close to Scar. He chuckled sheepishly.

"Oh, right… Oops…"

He didn't have the chance to say much else, for Al managed a kick that sent him flying three feet away.

Barry arose again with an angry grunt, using his remaining arm as a support. "It's not fair, two against one, you know!" he declared. "But, then again… I always loved cheating!" And with that, he pulled with his left arm a lever that was on the wall close to him.

"What did you do?" Al exclaimed, taken aback by that action.

"Just a little precaution to make sure _no one_ remains to intrude the place!" Barry said, cackling. "Well… time to make a straight getaway! I'd run fast, if I were you!"

And following his own advice, the skull-headed armour sprinted away, leaving his opponents behind.

Al remained rooted on the spot, not really understanding what was happening; that is, until Scar let out a growl of dismay.

"He set off a time-bomb! Get down!"

Al gasped in realisation, but he didn't do as he was told. He grabbed a thin piece of metal and started drawing on the ground fast.

The explosion was deafening and the ground shook violently, making armour and man fall down. Nevertheless, the barrier Alphonse had created on time to protect himself and Scar held firm, and so they didn't get a scratch.

Almost. Scar pushed himself into a sitting position and cradled his right arm, wincing.

Al noticed this, and he couldn't help but feel concerned.

"What happened to your arm?"

"It never fully healed, thanks to your escort," Scar answered acidly.

That made Al forget all feelings of worry and he glared at the Ishbalan.

"You mean you never gave it the chance to heal. You still want to go after Brother, don't you?"

"Every State Alchemist deserves death," was all that Scar said. He stood up. "Is your brother inside?"

Suspecting what Scar had in mind, Al planted himself in front of the Ishbalan. "You're not going in!"

Scar clenched his hands into fists. "Out of my way, young Elric; or I _will_ kill you."

"I've just saved your life!"

"And that's why I haven't killed you _yet_," Scar answered.

"Then do it now!" Al cried, stretching his arms and blocking the way. "I won't let you in so you can just kill my brother! You, of all people, should know that!"

Scar let out a cry and raised his arm. It was now glowing red and in a position to grab the suit of armour in a heartbeat, but Alphonse hardly flinched. In fact, neither of the adversaries moved, resembling statues of stone and contesting their wills against one another.

Finally, Scar relented. He lowered his arm.

"I've no quarrel with you."

Al relaxed, but only a little. He was still dealing with a murderer, after all.

"And you shouldn't have with Brother," he said. "He just wants to help a friend and atone for his… _our_ sin;" he added belatedly. He winced inwardly when he realised that he didn't say that with the conviction he once had.

Scar regarded Al for several moments, and then turned to look at the building, now half-destroyed and crumbling. "How is he to do that? What does he hope to find in there?"

Al didn't really want to answer that question, but he understood that he didn't have any other choice.

"If I let you in and show you, will you promise not to kill Brother?"

Scar didn't speak for a few moments; but then he nodded. "I promise."

Al let out a sigh of relief. "Good." He walked up to the entrance, which was now wide open because of the explosion, and then vanished in the darkness of the corridors with Scar close behind.

* * *

The first thing he noticed was a big, thunderous noise. The second was an inexplicable light that almost blinded him, so he covered his eyes with his arm.

Wait a minute… he could _move?_

He brought his other hand forward, registering the motion and deciding that this was real, no mere trick of his mind. And when he took two steps forward to bring himself out in the openness of the room he was currently in, he could only grin maniacally.

"Free at last. So you decided you need me again, old hag?"

He looked around, but what he was looking for was nowhere in sight.

That was odd. How did he manage to get out of the seal she used to imprison him?

He looked back at the array on the floor. Though beautifully drawn, there was now a large crack marring it.

"Ah… that explains it."

That, of course, meant only one thing.

_She_ had nothing to do with this. Which meant that she probably wouldn't realise he was free till he was long gone from this hole she'd put him in. Long gone from her and with the chance to finally do everything he wanted; to get everything he desired; and finally satisfy his unquenchable greed.

After all, one had to act on his name, right?

"Free!" Greed exclaimed again, even more happily this time.

Then other voices made him look around again. Voices that begged to be let out also. Voices that were filled with pain and torment. Even inhuman snarls and growling.

So he wasn't alone in this room.

Well, time for a little chaos. With that in mind, his violet eyes darted to a switch on the wall beside him, and then pressed it. Greed's maniacal grin only broadened as the doors opened with a heavy clank, releasing all kinds of people… and not.

"Help us!" a woman's voice was heard beside him. Her cage wouldn't budge open.

Greed just smirked and lifted his hand, which had become black and claw-like in an instant. He swiped swiftly and so cut the door in two.

The woman came out, regarding Greed cautiously. She wasn't very tall, but her body reflected the years of training she might have spent. Two other men followed her: a tall, muscular bull of a man, and a smaller one, who kept cocking his head very much like a dog.

"Thank you. We owe you," she said.

Greed nodded, resting a hand on his hip. "That you do." He turned to other chimeras as well. "You! All of you! I've set you free and now the life you will lead depends on you alone. You can stay here… or get out and play in hell with me!"

Everyone within the room looked at the homunculus, clearly trying to decide what they should do. Then, one by one, they all said:

"We'll follow you."

* * *

Maes went up the stairs two by two, hurrying to find Armstrong and the rescue team as quickly as possible. All the while he kept wondering what were Ed and Al thinking when they decided to venture in such dangerous ground on their own, and he was determined to give them quite the lecture for it when he found them.

It was then that he screeched on his tracks, paling considerably. After all, there was no mistaking that proud countenance of the ultimate higher-ranking officer's form, or indeed the female presence beside him.

It was the Führer himself, now walking down the hallway, whereas he was escorted by Colonel Juliet Douglas, his personal secretary.

_Oh no_, Maes thought, for Bradley couldn't become involved in this. If that man found out that the Fullmetal Alchemist was snooping around a former research laboratory without anyone's authority, he could have Ed stripped off his rank and title in a heartbeat!

Maybe Maes could walk by without being noticed…

"Lieutenant Colonel Hughes? May I ask what you're doing here at this time of night?" King Bradley said, his only eye looking at him sternly.

_Damn it._

Well, there was nothing for it now.

"Sir!" Maes said, saluting at once. "There has been news of an officer of the military in danger and actions have been taken for his rescue."

"Indeed?" Bradley said, mildly surprised. "May I ask the name of that officer?"

"Major Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist."

King Bradley's eye widened just slightly. "This is quite a grievous matter. Where was he last seen?"

"At his hotel room, Sir," Maes answered. "And we have reasons to believe that he's in an abandoned research facility by the name of Lab 5."

"I see," Bradley replied. Hardly hindered by the patch that covered his missing left eye, he turned to the secretary. "My meeting with the other officers will have to be postponed, Miss Douglas. I will be with Lieutenant Colonel on his rescue mission."

"Sir, let me call your escorts," Colonel Douglas suggested, her green eyes unreadable.

"That won't be necessary," Bradley answered, waving his hand dismissively. "In fact," and at that he turned to Maes, "I will allow the Lieutenant Colonel to lead. I'm sure he will do well."

Maes drew his shoulder-blades back and saluted. "Thank you for your trust in me, Sir!"

"Noted," was all that Bradley said. "Now… if you'll excuse me, Miss Douglas."

And he followed Maes down the hallway.

Neither men saw the Colonel watching them go, a curious expression on her face; then taking out of the folder she had been holding this whole time a file with data on her own assignment. A strange smile crossing her features, she walked to her office to make a couple of helpful phone-calls.

After all, if Dante wanted answers, she would make sure she got them.

* * *

Al looked around once again, uncertain. It turned out that there was a reason his brother had been taking so long to come back. The place was like a labyrinth, and there were more than enough times that the suit of armour felt like he was heading the wrong way.

Al turned, and he was dismayed to see that he had ended up to another blocked hallway. He took out from a small crack in his gauntlet a piece of chalk and got ready to draw an array to do away with the obstacle, but Scar proved faster. With his arm aglow, he destroyed the debris in a matter of seconds.

"It saves us time," was all that Scar said before moving onward. "Now… where did you say your brother would be?"

"Where they make the Philosopher's Stone," Al answered. "But I'm not sure where that is exactly."

Scar made a grim expression. "The brightest room, no doubt; they need power if they're to do such foul deeds." He turned to Al. "I'm surprised though. Why is it just the two of you here?"

Al stopped on his tracks. "What do you mean by that?"

Scar chuckled, although there was no mirth in that sound. "He was nowhere with you, and you never said that he was with your brother either. So where is he?"

Al clenched his hands into fists. "Not that it's any of your business, but he's in East City. He couldn't follow us after the damage you did to him."

"I won't lie by saying I'm sorry," Scar said and resumed walking. "I should have killed him while I had the chance."

"If you had done that, then you would have killed someone just as innocent as my Brother."

"What is so innocent about a man of God who betrays his people and serves Ishbal's enemies?"

Al froze, dumbfounded. "What? You think Beregond is an Ishbalan?"

Scar scoffed. "I suppose you wouldn't know. His appearance is certainly deceiving. But the blood of Ishbal flows in his veins; he carries proudly a name out of the old language of Ishbal – a language that only priests are allowed to use anymore." He locked his gaze sternly on Al. "He's an Ishbalan; and, worst of all, an Ishbalan of noble lineage."

If Al's metal jaw were detachable, it would have dropped on the floor by now. First they question his own memories, now this?! Was he supposed to doubt everything?

But then other memories got triggered.

"_I was born in a world much different than yours. A world filled with kings ruling their people justly and knights to protect those very people and their lords. The name of that world can be translated in your language as Middle-earth."_

"_Now everything falls into place!" Ed declared._

"_It does?!" Beregond exclaimed._

"_Of course!" said Al. "The odd-looking armour, the strange language…"_

"_The fact no one's heard of you, the weird name…" piped in Ed._

"_Your fascination and fear over machines…"_

"_Your… unique… approach on things…" Ed shuddered._

"_I have apologised for that knife more than once," mumbled Beregond, his face becoming crimson with embarrassment._

"_Not to mention your ignorance on the geography, history and society of this world," continued Ed, not taking notice of what Beregond said. _

"_In other words," Al said, "you couldn't be anything else but from another world."_

"_Or a crack-pot," Beregond completed half-heartedly._

"_A really crazy person never admits that," said Al, laughing._

No, there were no doubts about this. Beregond was who he claimed to be.

"You're wrong!" he cried at Scar. "I don't know where you got that idea about the name, but Beregond's not an Ishbalan! He's a…!"

He never finished his sentence. At that moment, a side-door opened and a dark-clothed woman walked in, followed doggedly by another, man-like creature.

Scar bared his teeth in hatred. "You…"

Gluttony beamed at once. "The Ishbalan I didn't get to eat!"

Al gasped and turned to Scar. "You know them?"

Lust just smirked. "What do you know? We were trying to find something else, only to end up with something just as good." She gently patted Gluttony's shoulder. "Go get your Ishbalan."

Gluttony gave a broad grin and lunged with his jaws open…

…only to close them around a metal gauntlet.

"RUN!" Al shouted, using his other arm to push Gluttony away.

"I have never run to start now!" Scar said, arm aglow.

"Well, you'd better start, because I can't hold him!"

"You'd better listen to his advice, Ishbalan," Lust said, her soft voice sounding now threateningly. Her claws extended for the kill.

It took all of Scar's speed to dodge them, but he was clearly not willing to give up without a fight. He rushed forward again.

He never had the chance to do anything. Lust used her claws to cut a large part of the wall and pushed it on Scar, burying him there.

Al gasped, horrified. He tried to run towards Scar, but Gluttony's arms seized him from his sides, holding him in place. Al tried to fight back, he really did. However, part of his arm was already gone and he could only kick that hard as Gluttony kept looking at him in a puzzled manner.

"What should I do with this one, Lust?"

The female homunculus smiled. "Let's re-unite him with his brother, shall we? But first make sure he won't do anything funny. He's an alchemist, after all."

Gluttony stared for a couple of moments… then his lips curved again into a maniacal grin.

* * *

Ed still walked on, carrying the elder Slicer brother in his flesh hand. He hated to admit it, but he wouldn't have been able to find his way around without the help of that helmet. The place had so many traps and corridors and aisles that thinking about it just made his head hurt.

On the other hand, Ed's head hurt anyway after being knocked about like that…

"Which way do we go now?" Ed asked, looking about.

"Turn left and then straight."

"All right…" Ed moved forward.

As he continued on, however, he felt the hair on the back of his head standing on end. Edward tried to catch a glimpse behind him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn't see anything.

Even so, why did he have that terrible sensation that he was being watched?

There was only one way to find out.

"I know you're there," he declared, turning to look at the dark corridors he had left behind just a couple of minutes ago. "So why don't you grow some backbone and show yourself?"

There was silence for a few moments. Then a hoarse voice reached Ed's ears.

"I really _do_ hate children with good instincts, like you." A form within the shadows moved and stepped out to look at the young Alchemist. "It's been a very long time, hasn't it, Edward? Almost four years."

Ed froze, hardly believing his eyes; for he knew who was before him.

It was Nina's father. It was the very man who had raised the girl that had won a place in Ed's heart in his early years as a State Alchemist, seeing in her the baby sister he never had.

He was also the very same man who had stolen her life.

* * *

"_This is where we're going to stay?!" a twelve year-old Edward exclaimed, seeing the house of the alchemist who would provide him and his brother accommodations till the qualification exam. "It's huge!"_

"_You two! Are you going to stay there, gawking?" cried a much younger, Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang._

_At that sharp command, Ed and Al scampered ahead and entered the yard. Little did Ed know that his presence would be the source of delight for a hundred and fifty-pound shepherd dog, who decided to show his affection by jumping on him and crushing the young State Alchemist-to-be on the ground._

"_Bad Alexander!" scolded the four-year-old girl that came out running when she saw what her dog was up to. _

_But Alexander just panted happily, not minding the flailing that was going on underneath him._

"_Sorry about that!" a man said, coming out as well and seeing Ed on the ground. "I should have tied him up!"_

"_Just don't say roll over!" Ed blew his bangs away from his eyes and looked up. "Are you Tucker?"_

_Tucker nodded and helped Ed up. "Well, come in. I should warn you, the house is pretty messy. It has been since my wife left."_

_Ed and Al just waved their hands dismissively in a gesture that it was perfectly fine. They followed Shou Tucker in the house, taking in the size of the place and the amount of books inside it. Suddenly, Al felt like someone was looking at him intently. When he turned, he was surprised to see that it was the little girl, who was regarding him closely._

"_Big brother has weird clothes," Nina noted, her blue eyes widened in surprise. "Aren't they heavy?"_

_Al's eyes sparkled in amusement at this. "They are, but it doesn't bother me. I'm strong."_

_Nina just giggled._

* * *

"_Small Big Brother, there's snow! Let's play!" _

_Ed looked at the winter-veiled surroundings and then at Nina, who was already playing with Al and Alexander. _

_He didn't hesitate once. He jumped on the snow and started chasing after them. None knew for how long their games lasted, nor did they care. When exhaustion finally caught up with them, all of them just lay on the snow, looking at the grey sky above and panting softly._

"_Big brothers…" Nina said, "I wish that after you take the test you could stay here forever."_

_Neither Al nor Ed knew what to say to that. They wanted to tell Nina that they would have to look for a house of their own soon, but… how could they?_

_So they went for the next best option; they didn't say anything. Ed just sat up and started drawing on the snow._

"_What are you doing?" Nina asked curiously._

"_It makes wishes come true," Ed answered. "Watch." And at that moment, he put the array he had drawn into work. Once the light of the transmutation reaction had died down, flowers had sprouted were there was snow before. As Nina clapped her hands enthusiastically, he made a garland out of them and placed them on her head._

"_Small Big Brother is amazing!" she cried._

_Ed could only smile._

* * *

"_Mr. Tucker? Are you in?" Ed cried, entering the house._

_There was no answer, which was odd. The lights were on, so someone had to be in._

"_Brother just got his results from the qualification exam!" Al cried, too. _

_There was again no answer._

"_Mr. Tucker! Nina!" Ed cried once more._

"_Alexander!"_

_And finally, Shou Tucker answered. "At the basement! Come in!"_

_Ed and Al complied, though apprehensively. They didn't care much for that place, since it was filled with experiments on live and dead chimeras – Tucker's objects of research. It was true some of them proved to be quite the scientific interest, but even so, the sight of them was still unnerving. _

_Ed blinked to adjust his eyes in the light of the semi-dark room. Tucker was standing at the centre of the basement, arrays upon arrays surrounding him. The man was smiling, but Ed couldn't possibly guess what for._

"_Look!" Tucker announced. "A perfect chimera that speaks and understands human words. Just in time for my assessment exam, too!"_

_Ed and Al gasped. It was then that they saw what it was that was standing next to the older alchemist. A yellowish four-legged creature, eyes shining brilliantly and a long brown mane extending from the crown of its head till the tip of its tail; it resembled a small lion._

"_Watch this!" Tucker said, He faced the chimera, pointing at Ed. "This is Edward. Say it."_

_The chimera looked at Tucker for a moment and then opened its mouth. The sounds it made were thick and brusque, but they were speech nonetheless._

"_Ed…ward?"_

"_That's it! Good job!" Tucker said, patting the chimera on the head._

"_Good… job…" the chimera echoed. Suddenly, it locked its gaze on the boy. "Ed… brother…"_

_Ed frowned at this. And he certainly wasn't comforted when the chimera turned to Al. _

"_Let's… play…" it said in a pleading manner. _

_Al tensed, and Ed decided that something was very wrong. He stepped forward, regarding the chimera closely._

_It just looked back at him, recognition reflected in its eyes._

_It was enough._

"_Tucker," Ed ground out, fists shaking as he stood up. "When did you say your wife left?"_

_Tucker's smile wavered. "Two years ago."_

"_And when did you create the first chimera that spoke words?"_

"_Two years ago. Why?" _

_Only then did Ed face Tucker. Anger flashed in his eyes, and his automail fist got ready to place the first punch._

"_WHERE ARE NINA AND ALEXANDER?" _

_The only answer he got was: "I hate kids with good instincts like you." _

* * *

"_Shou Tucker is placed under arrest. As for the chimera, it will come with us," Brigadier General Grand said and turned on his heel to get into his car. In a matter of moments, he was gone, and the truck that carried Nina was already following._

"_No! I won't let you take her!" Ed shouted. He clapped his hands, aware by now that he could perform alchemy in that way also, and made the ground shake long enough for the truck to skid out of its course. As the truck crashed on its side, the doors opened and Nina came out… but ran away from Ed and Al._

"_Nina, wait!" Ed cursed himself mentally. He shouldn't have done that, not in the unstable mental state the chimera was in. And then, horrified, he saw her taking a sharp turn on the left and out of sight. "Nina!"_

_Then there was red light that sent a chill to his heart and made him run faster. By the time he had arrived, however, there was nothing but a mass of blood on the wall._

"_It looks like… she was decomposed," Al noted softly, now standing beside his brother._

_But Ed didn't listen anymore. He never noticed the great thunderclaps that echoed from a distance, he didn't pay heed to the first drops of rain. He just walked up to the ugly stain on the wall, his eyes stubbornly locked on the ground as he couldn't bear to look at it. Then he raised a hand and touched the wall, somehow hoping for something which logic dictated would never happen._

_He couldn't save her… _

"_I'm sorry, Nina." _

_And with those soft, broken words, Ed's tears mingled with the tears of heaven. _

* * *

"You should have been executed long ago," Ed said through gritted teeth. "So what are you doing here, alive?"

"I was spared in order to continue with my work," Tucker answered.

Ed snorted. "Your work… It should have been you who died, not Nina." He looked at Tucker from head to toe. "But I suppose there _is_ such a thing as poetic justice after all."

Indeed, the corrupt alchemist looked nothing like a human being anymore. His front resembled a grotesque bear, whereas the said grotesque bear's back parts were nothing but the man's upper body and arms. And the only perspective of the world that Tucker could have was upside down – his head was forming the back of the bear's head.

"You don't understand, Edward," Tucker said, his voice always nothing more than a whisper. "It's because of Nina that I'm here. While not working on research concerning Lab 5, I have been allowed to work on a way to bring her back."

"Is that supposed to make me cheer for you?" Ed said in a snarl.

"You should. I've almost succeeded."

Ed stared at Tucker incredulously. Tucker, however, just made a motion with his claw-like hand in a beckoning manner and led Ed to the next room.

Ed looked around him, his surroundings making his heart twist violently. There was a huge transmutation circle on the floor, and several smaller ones on the walls. Arrays just like the one on…

Ed swallowed hard.

_Scar's arm…_

"Is this… Is this array what is used to create the Philosopher's Stone?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Tucker answered.

Ed shivered involuntarily.

"And here is Nina."

And with an abrupt movement, Tucker pulled at a curtain near him, to reveal chimeras upon chimeras in large tubes. Some of them where too inhuman to be recognisable, but some of them were just like…

Ed felt like throwing up as he saw those familiar blue eyes, so empty of life. "You're sick," he told Tucker.

"No. I'm a man with vision. The body is complete, and all I need is the perfect philosopher's stone to put Nina's soul in there. This is where you come in the picture, Edward."

"The picture?"

It was then that a deafening sound echoed throughout the room. When Ed turned at the sound, he was confused to see flocks of people being ushered in the same hall.

They were handcuffed.

"Ah… the sound of a wall collapsing from the use of an explosive is so pleasant as it resonates throughout the depths of the body."

"Stop babbling, Kimblee," said another voice, much more gruff. The greasy-haired, sickly thin man was pushed forward, his shackles preventing him from moving freely, and then placed in the cage nearby.

But Ed's eyes widened to see who it was that pushed the prisoner.

It was impossible, yet there he was…

Brigadier General Grand.

TBC…


	19. Red Glow

Even though it was very late, or very early in the morning for that matter, Brigadier General Connors was still in his office, looking intently at the huge file that was on the desk. Inside the file were numerous papers and photos, drawings and sketches about swords and armoury, compiled together after arduous research in the hopes of finding anything concerning Sergeant Beregond's sword.

It was of no use. In spite of all the inquiries he made to all the blacksmiths and weapon experts, he hadn't managed to find someone who would be able to give him something more to continue his research. What he found out was that nobody made those kind of swords anymore. In fact, nobody ever _made_ that kind of sword _precisely._ It was some kind of variation from the ones people of Amestris used more than a thousand years ago.

And that was what had Connors thinking hard. Why would that sergeant create that kind of sword? How come he was well acquainted with it, and even trained to wield it? Where did he gain that knowledge?

It was then that the phone rang, cutting him off his thoughts. Huffing slightly, Connors picked up the receiver and answered with a gruff: "Yes?"

"Brigadier General Connors, I believe?"

The moment he heard the voice on the other end of the line, Connors straightened his shoulders. "Colonel Douglas."

"Indeed," the feminine voice said. "Surprised?"

"Yes, to be perfectly honest, Colonel. May I help you?"

"Actually, you may," Douglas said. "Do you know of a certain Professor John Ronald Syndow?"

Connors frowned, not expecting that question. "Yes, I do. He's a language enthusiast. May I ask what this is about?"

"Nothing that should be your concern. The only thing that should matter to you is that it is believed the Professor holds some information of great interest to Central Headquarters and the Führer himself. This is why I must ask you to arrange his transportation to Central City as soon as possible. Is that understood, Brigadier General?"

Connors wasn't a man that could be shaken easily, but Colonel Douglas knew how to make him nervous. "Yes. I will look into it today."

"Good. That will be all."

And with that, the line went dead, leaving Connors quite troubled. Finally, he pressed the buzzer to signify his escort to come inside the office.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?" asked the soldier, standing in attention the moment that he entered.

Connors' only answer was: "Get my car ready."

* * *

In less than an hour, Brigadier General Connors was at Syndow's estate, pulling the cord that would open the gate. As soon as he got to the doorstep with his escorts, he got ready to knock, but it wasn't necessary. At the next moment, the door opened to reveal a young man looking at them surprised… and quite wary.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

The brigadier general locked his gaze on the young man. "We wish to speak to Professor Syndow."

"What is your business?"

"Strictly military and only with the professor. It would be best if you let us in."

The young man's eyes reflected the defiance that was burning within him. "I will speak with my father and he will tell me if he can see you." He was about to close the door, but one of Connors' men proved faster and held the door in place.

"I'm afraid, dear boy, your father will have to see us, whether he can or not."

"You have no right!"

"Christopher, who are these gentlemen?"

At the sound of John Syndow's voice, everyone turned to see that the professor was indeed in the foyer, his cane providing him support as he approached them.

"Well?" Syndow asked again. He was eyeing the newcomers calmly, yet with quite the scrutiny.

"Professor Syndow," Connors said then. "It would be to your best interest if you followed us to Headquarters where arrangements will be made for your transportation to Central."

Syndow, surprisingly enough, smiled. "To ask you what this is all about would be fruitless, I suppose?"

"I'm only following orders," Connors answered in an annoyed manner. "Please follow us."

"Father…"

But Syndow just raised his hand. "It's all right, Chris. Just tell your mother that I won't be able to be here for dinner – and make sure that she doesn't get too dismayed about it." He turned to the soldiers and beckoned them to enter. "It will take me some time to pack my things, so you might as well be comfortable while you wait. The living-room is over there."

Connors only nodded and he proceeded inside, followed closely behind by his escort. However, the moment he entered the living-room, he stopped on his tracks because he saw something only too familiar.

A suit of armour that a wild man was wearing not too long ago, and right next to it was the sketch of a knight, resembling very much that particular wild man.

Connors now knew that _this_ was no mere coincidence. Like he knew that he would have to ask Syndow some questions of his own when they got to East Headquarters.

* * *

Ed still looked on as the Brigadier General moved at the centre of the great Hall, unable to understand what the meaning of this was. Surely, there had to be some logical explanation!

It was then that Grand turned and noticed him. His hands rested on his hips and regarded the young alchemist with a raised eyebrow.

"Fullmetal Alchemist, is there a reason that you're in a restricted area under my jurisdiction?" he asked.

Ed straightened up in defiance. "I wouldn't answer you even if you were the Brigadier General."

Grand just laughed. "I've got to hand it to you, you found out quickly. So what gave me away?"

"Everything," Ed answered. "Scar murdered Grand before my eyes and, powerful alchemist or no, there was no way he could survive after his brain exploded."

"Then I suppose I should change to something more comfortable," 'Grand' said. And suddenly, to Ed's shock, light surrounded the 'Brigadier General' and in his place was a lithe form, green unruly strands cascading down his back as though they were leaves of a palm-tree.

"What the hell are you?!" Ed cried.

"Tut, tut," Envy answered, waving a finger. "_I'll_ be asking the questions. So what are you doing here, Fullmetal Pipsqueak?"

Ed's face turned red in his wrath. "What… did you call me?" he asked slowly.

Envy waved his hand contemptuously. "Answer my question first, Pipsqueak… whoa!" Envy instantly ducked to avoid a vicious kick from a platform boot; then jumped back. "Do you really want this? I hate fighting, Pipsqueak."

Well, three times was definitely too much! "WHO ARE YOU CALLING--!"

_SNAP._

_Uhoh. _Ed froze, looking at his automail in horror.

He couldn't lift it, no matter how hard he tried. It just remained limp on his side, a dead weight.

_Oh… crap…_

Envy looked at Ed, raising his eyebrow again. "What's the matter, Pipsqueak? Mechanical failure?"

Snarling, Ed kicked with his automail leg, showing that not _all_ his parts were failing. But this time, Envy just grabbed the automail leg and used it as leverage to push the young alchemist away.

"Don't fight. It will be less painful," he said. The moment that Ed tried to lunge again, he punched him on his temple, a cruel grin forming on his lips when Ed fell on a heap on the ground; then kicked the boy's injured side, making him double over in pain.

"Told you. And know this, Pipsqueak. The only reason you're still around, the only reason I haven't killed you, is that we were told not to!"

Ed didn't bother to answer. He was doing his damnedest to bring himself upward, gritting his teeth as he mentally shut out the pain.

"Well, well… I see that you've been quite busy yourself, Envy," said a female voice.

Envy turned and cocked his head at the newcomers. "You were supposed to find the escapee."

"He is gone," Lust answered, walking gracefully forward. "But we didn't come empty-handed either."

Ed finally managed to push himself on his knees… only to see a fat, man-like creature carrying Al in his thick arms. It was in horror that he saw that all his little brother's limbs were gone.

"Al?! Alphonse?"

"Brother…" the suit of armour responded, but then he was dropped unceremoniously on the ground.

"He's alive for the time being," Lust said. She crossed her arms and sat down on Al, deciding that he offered quite the comfortable seating. "You cannot believe how easy you made this for us, Fullmetal. If you hadn't decided to drop in yourself, we would have come to fetch you - eventually."

"What are you talking about?" Ed said, still groaning at every breath he took.

"Isn't it obvious, Edward?" Tucker said then. "We need you to make a Philosopher's Stone for us."

Ed's heart missed a bit, and he exchanged glances with Al. "I thought you guys were supposed to be creating it!" he finally said, turning once again to his captors.

Lust clicked her tongue several times. "Quite on the contrary. You see, though we know how it is made, we are in the compromising situation in which we cannot perform Alchemy ourselves. We're Homunculi, which means artificially created humans, not real ones… although I would like to be one day," her voice softened, but it didn't last; her expression became again cold. "So we just gather the materials needed, and then depend on alchemists we put under our service to do the work for us. The better the practitioner, the better the end results." She pointed elegantly at a number of different kind of tubes, close to Edward. "There is the liquefied material that will encase the true ingredients of a Philosopher's Stone. You probably know it as the Red Water, after the vials that Dr. Marcoh carries with him. And you do know what are the true ingredients, don't you, Fullmetal?"

Ed bit his lower lip at this. Yes, he did… as he also realised now just from what Dr. Marcoh was desperately trying to run away from. He looked at the prisoners that were shackled in place. They looked so confused… and even terrified.

"So… you basically want me to become a murderer," Ed said. "Why would I do this for you?"

Lust smiled _almost_ sweetly. "But we're not asking, Fullmetal." Suddenly, to Ed's mystification, her hands extended to elongated claws that picked up the elder Slicer brother in a heartbeat. "We're telling. Do you know what happens to an attached soul when you do _this?_"

And then Ed watched sickened as her pointy index finger started scratching at the blood seal.

"You can't do that! He's still a human being!"

"Edward Elric…" the elder Slicer Brother's voice sounded, frightened. "I want you to…" But he never finished the sentence. Lust's fingers had cut the seal through and through, shattering the helmet in the process.

"Care for a replay?" Lust said, smiling. With the grace of a lady, she removed Al's head and elongated her index finger again, bringing it dangerously close to his seal. "This shouldn't take long."

It was then that Ed snapped and forgot all feelings of pride.

"NO!" he shouted tearfully. "Please, don't! He's my little brother! Please, don't take him away from me! I'm begging you!"

"Brother…"

Ed turned at Al's direction, trying to understand why his brother sounded so calm about this. They were about to kill him!

"Brother, it's okay," Al continued. "What am I, really?"

Lust raised an eyebrow at those words; then smirked. "How touching. You think you're quite the hero, don't you?" she said to Al.

"I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you're saying!" Al cried bravely.

Then laughter echoed throughout the hall; Envy's laughter. And the homunculus laughed long and hard before he knelt close to Al, a grin plastered on his face.

"Let me guess. You think you have nothing to lose, right?" he said. He leant closer, and his voice softened without losing any of its mocking quality. "Trouble is… you haven't thought it through. There is always something more to lose."

Though Al wasn't able to move, Ed was sure that his brother had flinched too at those words. Could this Envy guy really be talking about Winry and Aunt Pinako?

But… how did he come to know of them?

"Lust," said then the androgynous form, walking nonchalantly back next to Edward, "What was that man's name?"

Ed felt a chill in his heart. No… they couldn't mean…

"Beregond, I believe."

The brothers tensed at once.

"Oh, yes…" Envy said, as though remembering. "Beregond. Just Beregond. A soldier who acts as your escort and secretary, though he's also quite the accomplished alchemist from what I happened to witness. A foreigner; a Gondorian, to be exact - whatever that means. A man who's even faced Scar single-handedly in order to protect you. I guess he feels grateful that you took him in; stray dogs tend to do that. Right now he's in East City, a blessing to his friends and colleagues. A good, honest man, all in all, who looks a bit like this."

And, in a matter of seconds, Envy was surrounded by light once again. When it had died down, Ed was again shocked to see that that creature had changed its form again; whereas Al gasped at the sight before him.

Beregond was standing where Envy did just a few moments ago. Except… it wasn't Beregond. The malevolent glint reflected through narrowed eyes, the smug grin and the full-of-contempt air contradicted severely the candid features the brothers had come to know, twisting their friend's face to something that neither Ed nor Al could recognise. And when 'Beregond' laughed maniacally, it was unbearable to watch. Beregond wasn't, and never could be, like that; it was an insult to the man himself.

"Oh, yes… we know about him. We've been watching him very closely," 'Beregond' said, his voice too much like the real Gondorian's. He waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry, I didn't hurt him; it wouldn't serve any purpose if I did. But that can change." Still keeping that form, Envy leaned close enough to place a hand on Ed's shoulder – and not removing it when Ed tried to shake it off him – and then spoke softly close to the boy's ear. "Can you picture it?" 'Beregond's' fingers traced Ed's face lightly. "I could take your appearance; smile at him; maybe even hug him… then crush his ribs before he had the chance to do anything. It would be easy; like breaking toothpicks one… by one. It would be so gratifying to watch him fall in a heap on the floor, much like you are now; a look of disbelief in his eyes as he would keep staring at the face of the person he was willing to protect with his life… the face of his murderer." The soft chuckle that followed made Ed's stomach turn.

But Envy, apparently, was far from finished. He stepped back from Ed, and faced Alphonse. "He would remain alive, Al; I assure you," 'Beregond' said, his voice reaching to its normal tone; he was clearly sure that the suit of armour had heard everything that was said. But then, his voice started rising.

"After all, I always wanted to find out just how loudly a man of his stature can scream when getting kicked again… and again… over… and over… before I'd step on his throat and delight at the sound of his neck snapping in two like a…!"

"Stop it!" Al's voice was tearful and full of fright.

Ed wasn't doing any better in controlling his voice as anger and – oh, how he _hated_ to admit it – despair shook his very core. "You… bastard…"

'Beregond' just sneered and turned towards Ed. "Bastard, is it? You think that just because your daddy left you and your mommy is dead, you know about the ugly side of life? You don't! This is a world you'll never understand, and you always fear what you don't understand! So don't waste yourself in anger, trying to prove something to yourself!"

Ed flinched. "How do you know about…?"

A flash of light later, Envy had returned to his normal androgynous form and was now looking coldly at Ed. "Let's just say that I'll never forgive you for carrying _that_ bastard's blood in your veins. Now… create the Philosopher's Stone – or you'll come face to face with the consequences of your defiance."

Ed didn't move for many moments, his mind in turmoil. He first looked at Al, then at the prisoners; and, lastly, at the transmutation circle.

Could he do it?

More importantly… could he become cold-hearted enough to do it?

Slowly and using his blood, he created an array which he used to fix the wall. He seemed calm and collected to anyone who looked at him now; but mentally, he was torn.

That array did nothing but kill, Ed knew that. He had already seen its work on Scar's arm. And now, he was about to do the same thing of which he had accused the Ishbalan.

On the other hand, if he created the Philosopher's Stone, then he would be able to fix his and Al's bodies. And as for the price – they were prisoners. Who knew what deeds they had done while roaming about free? Maybe the world wouldn't miss them.

_They are still human lives._

_Well, what about_ our _lives?_

Ed's hands clenched into fists. Everything was taken from them and now here was a chance to make something right at last! And it wasn't just him and Al anymore; Beregond needed the Stone so he could reclaim his life, too.

Ever silent, Ed got ready to place his hands on the array, locking his gaze on Al's form.

_Don't give up on me, Al…_ It would be easy, after all. Okay, his automail arm was hanging limply at his side, but he could still perform alchemy; his wrist and fingers were still agile enough.

Suddenly, Al's voice echoed in his mind as he remembered something his little brother said only hours ago.

_We can't lose our souls, Brother. Then we haven't gained anything._

Ed bit his lower lip. And there, just behind Al, he thought he could see Beregond. Not some fake guise by that Envy person, but the Beregond he had come to like.

And that one was shaking his head, a sad look in his eyes.

Ed bowed his head. He could create the stone, but he would never be able to look at Al or the Gondorian – or anyone else, for that matter - in the eye again. So he drew his hands away from the array, regaining his determination.

"I won't do it."

His captors stiffened, but he didn't care. Not even when Envy got ready to beat him once more, or when Lust's fingers elongated to reach for Al's seal. If both he and Al were to die here and now, at least they would die with a clear conscience.

What happened next, it happened so fast that Ed had trouble registering everything. A great rumbling sound reverberated through the entire room, making it shake violently. He looked at the direction of Envy and Lust, but they were just as surprised at this turn of events. And it was at the moment that the floor around him started splitting that he jumped on his feet again. The prisoners started shouting and fighting to get their shackles undone so they could escape.

"What is the meaning of this?!" said Tucker, confused.

"Looks like the place is done for," Lust said, clearly dismayed. She turned to Envy. "We should leave."

Envy snarled, obviously not ready to leave yet. Before Ed had time to react, the homunculus had punched him on his stomach, making him double over again.

"This is so you won't forget how lucky you were tonight." And with that, he followed Lust and Gluttony.

_Damn it…_ Ed was in serious pain right now. Nevertheless, he still managed to push himself back to his feet. "Al?" he called hoarsely.

And then he caught sight of the one responsible for the destruction. He was standing by the threshold, his right arm resting against the doorframe; blood-stained, panting in an attempt to catch his breath and clearly injured.

"Scar…"

"I heard what you said, Fullmetal Alchemist; so I'm giving you this one chance. Take your brother and get out of here!"

Ed immediately shook his head. "I don't need your help!"

"Maybe not," Scar retorted. "But your younger brother needs you!"

Though the young alchemist had opened his mouth to retaliate, in the end he just groaned. He hated it when a bad guy was right. Gritting his teeth in an attempt to will his legs to move, Ed ran up to Al, checking the seal. It appeared intact, but…

"Alphonse?"

"Brother!" Al cried. "Get out of here!"

"Not without you!" Ed said. He got a tight grip on the torso and started pulling with many a heave.

The torso didn't budge.

"Damn it!" Putting all his strength, Ed heaved again, not minding the searing pain at his side or his trembling limbs.

It was no use. He had only one arm and he was too weak already.

And then… a pair of arms grabbed Al's torso.

_What the…?_ Ed looked up, and gasped to see who it was.

"Hughes?!"

Maes rewarded Ed with a small, encouraging smile. "I'll get him out, Ed. Just stay close to Lieutenant Ross, okay?" His eyes widened slightly when he saw the number of gashes on Ed's head and body. "I'm glad the Führer has already made arrangements for an ambulance to arrive."

_Ross? Führer?_ Ed turned around, finally noticing the number of soldiers that were now swarming the hall, some of them evacuating the prisoners, while others doing their best to secure the area.

"Hughes, how did you…?" He looked around again. "Where's Scar?"

"Not now, Ed! We need to get out of here before this place crumbles over our heads!" was all that the Lieutenant Colonel said.

Still dazed but deciding to comply, Ed nodded and tried to find Ross amid the crowd. But then, his eyes widened in horror.

"No! Don't get close to those tubes!" he shouted and sprinted forward. Three soldiers were now about to make the mistake of trying to secure the tubes that contained the Red Water – and one of them was leaking dangerously!

Though he had managed to shove the soldiers away, Ed didn't have time to save himself. In a heartbeat, the cracked tube had broken under the pressure and spewed all its contents on the young alchemist.

And then the real hell was set loose. Ed felt like the liquid was eating his skin away and melting his eyes; his insides like they were ready to explode. Scream upon scream of terror and anguish tore from his chest and he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. He heard someone crying: "MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE!"…

… only to realise it was himself. He fleetingly noticed two soldiers coming at his direction and he reached out in the hopes of being helped; but a light that seemed to come out of him hit the men directly on their chests, pushing them on the wall. Then other voices pierced through his mind as though they were splitting it in two.

"BROTHER!!!"

"ED!"

Edward tried to answer, but only hoarse screams came out, his voice cracking after the vocal cords went through all that strain.

_Somebody… please…_

Finally, a pair of arms wrapped around him, securing him in place, stilling him before he hurt anybody else – offering warmth that he hadn't felt since… her.

"Mom… you… came back…" he whispered, a weak smile tugging his lips; then liberating darkness surrounded him, unaware that he had fainted in Ross's arms.

TBC…

* * *

A/n: If you spotted a 'Batman Begins' quote somewhere there, then kudos. ;)


	20. Of Trips And Hospitals

_A/n: And yay, we're back to Beregond and Havoc._

* * *

When Havoc woke up, he didn't realise where he was at first. Soon, however, the memories of the previous night registered within his mind. He was in Alphonse's room. He was surprised to find out that the suit of armour actually had one of his own; nevertheless, it was where he finally settled to sleep after spending most of the night talking to Beregond.

Speaking of which… where was the Gondorian?

The clanking sound of pots hitting together quickly gave Havoc a good hint, as well as the smell of something cooking.

_Hmm… toast._ Feeling his mouth watering and his stomach urging him in gurgling sounds to stop procrastinating already, Jean got up, straightened his trousers to the best of his ability with his hands, since he had slept with them on; and then headed for the kitchen.

Sure enough, that's where Beregond was too, humming softly to himself and cutting several slices of bread on the counter. A small casserole filled with boiling eggs was already on the burner, whereas on another burner was a frying pan with sizzling bacons in it. As for the Gondorian, he was already fully dressed. He was even wearing an apron to avoid any mishaps at the cost of his clothes.

That made Havoc chuckle slightly. "Didn't have you for the housewife type," he said.

Beregond turned at the sound of the voice, a grin adorning his features. "It goes with being a single parent for more than ten years," he said, "Although I have to admit that Alphonse is much better at it than I."

Havoc smiled, seeing Beregond at such a good mood. And yet, there was one small stain in that picture-like cheeriness the Gondorian was depicting.

Beregond's face was slightly pale, quite the contrary to what one would expect after a night's rest.

Unless, of course, there had been no rest.

"Didn't you sleep last night?" Jean asked, mildly surprised.

"Didn't feel like it," answered Beregond, as though there was nothing wrong with that kind of answer. He turned again to his task of cutting the loaf of bread. "So… what would you like to have first? Juice? Tea?"

Havoc thought about it for a bit. "Juice," he finally said. "Is it in the refrigerator?"

"Yes," the Gondorian answered. "Help yourself. I'm in the middle of making these sandwiches."

Jean nodded and went for the orange juice. "Ah, good, you have a glass out already," he said.

"Actually, that's Edward's," Beregond said. "He prefers to keep it there for easy access."

Havoc looked at the glass, then at the refrigerator; and, lastly, at the cupboard, which was on the level of his head.

"I think I can tell why," he said, grinning.

"Yes, well… you didn't hear _that_ from me," was all that Beregond said, a tinge of red finally colouring his cheeks; then started placing slices of ham and cheese between the slices of bread. Yet, as he kept at his task, his expression became more thoughtful.

"What?" Havoc asked, gulping down a big draught of the juice.

Beregond shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just being ridiculous."

Havoc raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "In what way?"

Beregond didn't speak for a while, focused on wrapping the sandwiches in cellophane. When he answered, it was with a slightly dismayed huff. "Getting worried. The last I heard of them, they were not okay, Havoc. What if…?" He paused, unsure how to continue. "…What if something else has happened in the meantime?"

Havoc didn't speak for some moments.

"See, there is a reason I said I'm being ridiculous," Beregond muttered. He picked up the basket near him so to put the sandwiches inside.

But Jean just clasped Beregond's back encouragingly. "You're not. But you don't have a reason to worry either. It's just that you are finally going to see them after more than a month and you're getting so worked up about it you let your imagination run away with you. Relax. Everything will be fine."

Beregond faced Jean for a couple of moments and a small smile appeared on his lips once more. "I think you're right. _Hannon le._" (Thank you.)

Jean scratched the back of his head in an embarrassed manner, sporting a goofy grin. "Thanks… I think."

Beregond just chuckled kind-heartedly.

It was at that moment that the smell of something burning reached both their nostrils – and their eyes widened in realisation.

Beregond instantly rushed to the stove with a kitchen towel, whereas Havoc grabbed a pitcher from nearby and started filling it with water from the kitchen tap. The fire was put out quite easily; nevertheless, both men still kept coughing, smothered by the remaining smoke that surrounded them.

"Maybe we should--?" Beregond tried to say, but he started coughing again.

"Good idea," replied Havoc, his voice strained.

They both moved out of the room, trying to catch their breath. Beregond opened a window to let the breeze disperse the smoke, and five minutes later things returned, more or less, back to normal.

"So…" Havoc said then, looking at Beregond quite innocently, "You were saying you were worried about _Ed and Al?_"

"Oh, shut up," was all that Beregond said with a glare.

And yet, at the next moment, they both started laughing so hard that they could hardly keep themselves from rolling on the floor. It was only after they started calming down a bit that Havoc remembered himself and checked his watch.

"Hmm… I'd better go find a phone-booth and ask Mustang for that leave," he said. He grabbed his shirt and donned it on his way out. "I don't think he'll mind, so I'll be back in a couple of hours with my stuff and we'll leave for the train station from here."

The moment he heard Beregond's "Okay!", he let the door shut behind him. He let out another series of chuckles as the memory of the kitchen incident tickled his insides.

He took a couple of steps…

… and then a sudden thought wedged forcefully in his mind.

The bacon and the eggs were getting cooked and yet the stove…

It wasn't turned off, was it? It couldn't be.

_Impossible,_ Havoc concluded. Chuckling to himself and dismissing such thoughts as absurd, he walked on.

Little did he know that, meanwhile, inside the house, Beregond was staring at the stove with a very apprehensive and confused look; for there was something that troubled the Gondorian more than he cared to admit.

Though he had meant to, he had _never_ turned the stove on.

Had he?

Beregond tried to remember, he really did; but he couldn't come up with a definite answer.

Sighing and seeing there was nothing he could do about it, he merely dismissed matters and focused on cleaning the mess before packing.

* * *

Ed groaned when he opened his eyes and saw the bright sunlight. His head was hurting, his body was getting acquainted with the feeling of having been trampled by oliphaunts, and his side throbbed in protest in spite of the bandages that covered it.

Wait a minute… bandages?

Ed managed to push himself into a seating position and checked himself, then at his surroundings.

What the hell happened? He was in Lab 5, wasn't he?

It was then that the door creaked opened and Sergeant Bloch and Lieutenant Ross came in. They seemed relieved for some reason.

"Major Elric. You've finally woken up," Bloch said, smiling

"Where am I?" Ed asked.

"Central Hospital," Ross answered. "You can recover in peace and quiet here after what happened within the lab."

"The lab?" Ed said. He tried to lean forward, but his body failed him miserably. Even so, he persisted. "There's no time for me to be hospitalised. I was close into finding out the truth…"

He was struggling so hard to get off his bed, that he didn't notice the brief glance that both sergeant and lieutenant exchanged. So he was stunned to hear the heavy thud of boots as both soldiers stood in attention.

"Fullmetal Alchemist, Sir!"

"Please, excuse us what we will do next!"

"What?" Ed asked.

And then it hit him.

Quite literally.

Ed was so taken aback at the slap Ross gave him that he just stared at her in shock.

But Ross was far from finished. Her eyes reflected the anger she was filled with as she proceeded to give Ed quite the lecture.

"We told you so many times not to act on your own, but then you two did it anyway! Even when we told you to wait at the inn patiently, because it was dangerous! And on top of ignoring our advice, you almost died!"

Ed breathed in sharply. He did what?!

It was then that he finally recalled everything. He and Al being threatened by those… _things_ into creating the philosopher's stone… then the Red Water…

Oh man…

He _had_ almost died!

"First, recognise the fact that you're still children!" Ross continued on. "Next, don't try to do everything by yourselves! Please, trust the people around you! Can't you put a little more faith on us adults?"

Ed had nothing to say to that. He just lowered his head in shame, recognising the fact that what Ross said was true.

And that complaint was all too familiar somehow.

_Ask for my help when problems present themselves and I will give it more than willingly. I'm not useless; I know you understand that. Please, don't treat me like one._

"That is all!" concluded Ross. "Please forgive us for our violent actions and words unbefitting that of officers of lower rank!"

Ed blinked. "Wha…? No, I'm the one who's at fault," he admitted at once. "You reminded me something that my other escort had also scolded me about. Except not so forcefully," he said, rubbing his reddened cheek.

Both Ross and Bloch seemed to cringe at this. "And… the punishment for the slap?" she ventured to ask.

Ed blinked again. "I… won't do anything."

It was amazing to see how much air the two soldiers had been holding, only to release it so forcefully in relief.

_This is ridiculous!_ "You don't have to be nervous!" Ed said. "I didn't get a State license because I wanted a status in the military! And you don't have to talk so formally to a kid!"

"Really?!" Ross asked, brightening up.

"Well, the thing is that it was really annoying to have to talk to someone younger than me like that, you know!" Bloch said, laughing.

_That's some fast adapting…_ Ed thought with a mental shake of his head.

It was then that he noticed something was missing. "Where's Al?"

"Outside," Bloch answered at once. "I hit him and I gave him the same sort of lecture. Thanks to that, my hand ended up like this." And with that, he raised his right hand, which was currently so bruised that it seemed like it was all blue.

That proved too much for Ed. Before he could help it, he started laughing hard in spite of his pain. "I should have warned you! He's pretty hard!" he said amid his laughing fits.

But then Ed remembered something very important. So important, in fact, that he immediately sobered.

"Sir?" Ross asked, not understanding the change of mood.

"I need to make a couple of phone calls," Ed said, cringing. "And one of them will involve handling a lot of screaming."

Oh yes… Winry was going to kill him.

* * *

Ed heard the line beeping once, twice… at the fourth one, he decided, he would hang up, considering himself lucky that he postponed Winry's wrath a little while longer.

"Right, what do you want?" Winry's voice sounded from the other end of the line.

So much for luck.

"Winry… it's me."

There was a small pause for a moment. "Ed. That's a surprise," the girl finally said.

"Uh… yeah…" Ed said. "Actually… it's hard for me to say, but… could you come over for some maintenance work?"

"Come over?"

"Yeah… you see, my arm broke, and there's a little reason why I can't travel to Resembool now. So could you come to Central?"

"Broken? How?"

_Oh yes. First concern: the automail,_ Ed thought grimly. "My fingers and wrist are moving, but the arm won't move upwards at all. It feels like my shoulder's gone out of whack."

"Yeah, I thought so. So it _was_ broken."

"What?"

"Just talking to myself," Winry answered. "Did you carry something heavy or swing your arm more than you had to?"

_And here it comes._ "I got into a big fight."

"AGAIN?! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU THAT IT WILL BREAK IF YOU USE IT LIKE A MANIAC?!"

Ed held the receiver as far away from him as possible with a wince. It was always the same story, but that didn't mean the young alchemist got used to it. So he simply waited for the storm to pass before anything else.

Except… there was silence now.

_Odd. She usually rants far longer._ "Hello?" he said, venturing to bring the receiver back close to his ear. After all, the line could have gone dead.

"It can't be helped. Where in Central?"

"Huh?!" To say Ed was stunned, it would have been an understatement.

There was another huff. "I'm saying I'll come for the maintenance. Where are you exactly?"

Okay, this was too good to be true. "Winry? For some reason, you're acting awfully nice."

"I'M ALWAYS NICE!"

That was better. "Okay, then I'll fill you in on the details when I call again. Yeah, later."

And with that, he hanged up, feeling somewhat relieved.

Until Sergeant Bloch said: "Calling your girlfriend?"

"WHAT GIRLFRIEND?!" Ed flailed, positively horrified.

"Stop! Your wound will re-open!" Bloch said.

But it was too late. At the next moment, Ed had collapsed on the floor with blood spurting anew from his side, murmuring something that resembled "I think I see my mother waving from the other side of a large river…" and then blacked out.

* * *

"She's just my automail mechanic," Ed grumbled, letting Bloch move him about in the wheelchair he was placed in after the small incident a few minutes ago.

"That's all?" Bloch said then, smiling. "That's no fun, you know."

"I'm fine with being like that, thank you very much!" Ed grumbled some more.

"Don't have a girlfriend?"

"I don't want one!"

Bloch let out a loud, melodramatic sigh. "When I was your age…"

But Bloch never got the chance to tell Ed about his teen achievements, because at that moment they entered Ed's room.

"Al?"

Alphonse was indeed placed in the corner of the room; yet he didn't make any sign that he acknowledged the newcomers.

"Ah… Al?" Ed said again.

There was no answer. The suit of armour remained perfectly still.

"Al!"

Al's head jerked up and looked at Ed's direction. "Brother?"

"Yeah." Ed pushed himself out of the wheelchair and got on his bed. "Where did your mind drift off to?" he asked curiously once settled.

"I… uh…" Alphonse stopped mid-sentence.

"Well?" Ed insisted gently.

There was another moment of silence, and then Al finally spoke. "That person… he said he would kill Beregond. And now he has every reason to."

Ed sighed. "That's true. I meant to call Beregond to see if he noticed anything odd around him, but…" He threw the blankets away. "I'll go now."

"No, you don't have to!" Bloch said reassuringly. "I'll make that call, and you try to get some rest. You got enough excitement for one day."

Ed got ready to object, meaning to say that he wouldn't be sure unless he heard Beregond's voice himself; but he had to admit that Bloch was right. So he just nodded the "go ahead" and drew the blankets close to him again. Bloch saluted and walked out, leaving the brothers alone.

Alone in complete silence, something that made Ed nervous. Usually Al would get concerned about him, ask how he was feeling – even mother him. But now…

_He must be really worried,_ Ed concluded. He gritted his teeth in dismay. That Envy guy was going down for frightening his little brother like that!

"Beregond will be fine," he told Al encouragingly. "He knows how to take care of himself."

"Okay, Brother," was all that Alphonse said; and then there was silence again.

_It's no use._ Alphonse was really down, and Ed was sure that being in that condition with no limbs had also something to do with it. So all Ed could do was hope that Winry would come soon and fix his arm, so that he could fix Al. Then it would just be a matter of starting their search for a way to return to normal through another path.

And this time, Beregond would accompany them. It would be for the best if it meant making sure Envy didn't fulfil his threat.

And with that last thought, Ed drifted to sleep – unaware that Alphonse's worry concerning the Gondorian was just _part_ of his inner turmoil.

* * *

The conductors called to all passengers to get on board the train for Central, and then there was a long whistle that signified the engines were about to start. In a matter of moments, the train was off, carrying in it a very tense-looking Gondorian soldier and a serene lieutenant with a cigarette on his lips. They were both dressed casually, since their trip didn't involve any military business. Which probably gave them one more reason to toss aside any dignity there was left out the window, because no more than ten minutes had passed when Beregond rested his head against the window and hugged himself.

"Already?" Havoc said, raising an eyebrow. "You don't get dizzy so fast while in the car."

"Faster than a car," was all Beregond managed to say through teeth so clenched that the words were barely uttered properly.

Havoc shook his head and sigh. "Now that's partly psychological. You understand that, right? One trip won't kill you."

Beregond didn't say anything this time. But he apparently saw Havoc's point, because he closed his eyes and started taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. Havoc smiled to notice that the Gondorian was nearly succeeding, when they heard voices just a couple of seats away.

"Oh love… did you read this? There was another accident yesterday," the man said, his face almost buried in the newspaper.

"Really? What happened this time?" asked the woman, who was knitting stoically.

"Two trains collided. The drivers tried to come to a stop, but it was no good. The poor chaps didn't stand a chance. And things wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the engines blowing up, setting fire to the compartments. Most of the passengers were…"

Havoc didn't manage to hear what happened to the passengers, because then Beregond, left eye twitching and a face positively green, grabbed him by his collar.

"You get me off this death trap right now or I jump off the window!"

* * *

"Have these handed to General Grumman's secretary," Roy said, handing several files to Riza. She took them with a small nod before saluting cordially and then exiting. At the next moment, Falman was walking through the door, and Roy could tell that his subordinate was very worried.

"What is the matter, Warrant Officer? Is there a fire?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Worse," Falman answered. "It's Connors, Sir."

Roy now knew the news would be pretty bad. "What about him?"

"He's taken Professor Syndow into custody."

"What?!" Roy jumped up at once. "Did you find out why?"

"No, Sir."

"Damn it. If he starts asking things…" Roy quickly grabbed his overcoat and rushed out, dragging Falman with him.

If he ever heard the phone in his office ringing at that moment, he simply ignored it. Which was a mistake, since the young sergeant that called got very surprised – and slightly worried.

* * *

"All right, one more time, Beregond."

The Gondorian sighed in resignation and complied. "Nothing's going to happen in this train."

Havoc nodded in approval. "Why?"

"Because I wasn't offered life again so that I would become a train-wreck victim."

"And?"

"And because the only way _you_ ever lose a potential girlfriend is because of Mustang, not of accidents." Beregond lifted his fedora hat from over his eyes and eyed Havoc. "And _that_ is quite the ridiculous argument, if I may add."

"It still worked, didn't it? You're calmed down."

"I am not," Beregond said stubbornly. "But I'll do anything so to stop repeating that little citation of yours." He crossed his arms over his chest in a hugging motion and sighed. "Lying down did help though, I have to admit."

Indeed, Beregond was now lying down on the train seats, shutting his mind off from any sounds that reminded him where he was _exactly_.

"Good," Havoc said, letting out a small smile of relief. "Now I can finally enjoy this trip."

Beregond sighed. "I can't say I blame you. I'm quite the hopeless travelling companion."

"Yeah… that you are," Havoc agreed. At the next moment, he opened the basket and picked a couple of sandwiches. "But at least you know how to keep your fellow travellers' stomachs full.'" And with that, he started munching happily.

That is, until he realised something.

Beregond couldn't eat _anything_ at his condition.

The Gondorian must have sensed what was going through Havoc's mind, because he smiled faintly.

"I wasn't planning on eating on the road. It would just make things worse."

Havoc blinked. "Then why did you make food for more than one?"

"It's the 25th tomorrow. Edward's birthday. So I figured a small celebration would be nice," Beregond replied. "But first we'll find Hughes. I want to give Elysia's birthday present as well, since she was born on the same day."

Havoc couldn't help but feel curious now. "What did you get her?"

Beregond reached for his pocket and took out what looked like something round, and he handed it to Havoc. "Open it."

Havoc did. And suddenly, the music box – for that's what it was – started playing. Havoc listened to the music that now filled the compartment for many moments, taking it in. It wasn't a tune he knew, but he had to admit it was a beautiful one - even though there was a sad tinge to it that made his heart sink a bit.

"Where did you get this?" he finally asked, closing it and handing it back to its owner.

"I made it," Beregond said. "Through alchemy."

That intrigued Havoc to no end. "So… you made it play that music?"

The Gondorian nodded. "It's a song from home; one about the War of the Ring."

"The one you were caught in?"

"Yes. I can't translate it to you word for word, I'm afraid. All I can tell is that it talks about the rekindled hope in our hearts after defeating Sauron."

Havoc thought about this for many moments. After reaching his decision, he locked his gaze on the Gondorian.

"Will you tell me about the War? And about your own part in it?"

Beregond propped himself on his elbow, clearly surprised. "Do you really want me to tell you? It's a very long story, whereas my own part was very small."

"We have plenty of time. And I still want to know," Havoc said.

Beregond smiled. "All right. Then you will. " He lied down again, keeping his eyes on Havoc. "It began with the forging of the Great Rings of Power. Three the Elves kept; seven were given to the Dwarf-lords; and nine were gifted to the race of Men. And all of them wielded those rings, because within them was bound the strength and will to govern each race. But little did they know they were deceived, for another ring was made…"

Havoc listened on.

_TBC…_


	21. Concerns

_Mother's voice woke him. He blinked once, twice, adjusting his eyes in the darkness of the room; then pushed back the blankets of his bed and arose to a sitting position. _

"_B'othe'?" he called softly. _

_But his brother was next to him, still sleeping. That also meant that Mother wasn't in their room. Then where was she?_

_He heard it again. And he was now sure that Mother was calling someone. But it wasn't that that made his heart skip a beat._

_It was the fright and concern in that voice._

_He instantly jumped out of bed, not minding the cold air that came in contact with his skin, and padded at the best of his ability towards the door. It was a good thing that he was afraid of the dark and had insisted on his parents leaving the big oak door slightly ajar at night. It made it easier for him now to pull it open and go outside._

_He looked first to his left, then to his right. Still no sign of Mother. _

_Perhaps if he went downstairs? _

_And then he heard Father's voice. To the toddler's surprise, it was carrying a tone that he never thought he'd hear in his life. _

_Father sounded… worried. _

_That seemed impossible. Father always worked out everything, knew everything and nothing disturbed him. So the boy decided he had to investigate further. Using the wall as a support to walk, he found himself at the top of the stairs. _

_He felt dizzy to see just how big those stairs were and, normally, he would have called for someone to help him downstairs. But something in his little heart warned him against it. So, he simply gritted his teeth, grabbed with both chubby hands the rail, and started going down, one uncertain step at a time._

_He could hear the voices clearly, but he couldn't understand what they were saying. Nevertheless, he was sure that something bad was happening, and that puzzled him even more._

_And then, as he entered the living room, he saw it. Father was hunched over someone sleeping on the couch; he could see that, even though Mother was unwittingly standing in front of him, her back to him. And the boy became even more confused as he realised Father was patting the sleeping form on the face. _

"_Damn it, don't give up now! Wake up!" _

_But, apparently, there was no response, because then Father suddenly turned at Mother. _

"_Call the Rockbells! Now!" _

_Mother made a motion as a nod and turned to leave… and saw him. The toddler flinched at the expression reflected in her face._

_It was anxiety and shock._

"_Mom? What's going on?"_

_Mother just picked him up. "Not now, sweetheart…" she said softly._

"_But…" _

"_Trisha! Hurry!" Father cried out._

_The toddler tried to understand what was going on, he really did. But when Mother picked him up, he looked over her shoulder and caught a good glimpse of the form on the couch._

_It was_ him.

_And his face wasn't the right colour at all._

It was then that Ed woke up with a start. He blinked, trying to straighten his mind – then remembered where he was. He let out a small groan, and rubbed his forehead in frustration.

_What the hell was that?_

"Brother? What's wrong?"

Ed turned and saw Alphonse in the corner of the room, now looking at him in what could only be described as a quizzical manner.

But, even though Ed really wanted to tell Alphonse about it, he wasn't sure if his brother would understand. After all, Ed wasn't sure if ihe/i understood. What he saw felt like a dream – yet another part told Ed that it was too real to have actually been a dream.

And so, there was only one answer Ed could come up with.

"Nothing." Then lied down again and closed his eyes.

Unbeknownst to him, Alphonse's gaze was locked intently on him.

* * *

"I didn't expect this turn of events," Roy said, more to himself than to Lieutenant Hawkeye, who was sitting in the co-driver's seat next to him. "What made Connors turn to Syndow all of a sudden?"

"It wasn't because any of us talked, that is for certain," Riza commented thoughtfully.

"I know that, Lieutenant; I never doubted it," Roy answered, his eyes still locked on the road as he drove on. "Hopefully Breda, Falman and Fuery will be able to fish out something useful from Connors' men."

"Yes, sir," Riza said.

However, Roy sensed that there was something troubling the woman. "What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Will Professor Syndow really tell of his conversation with Sergeant Beregond?" she said. "The professor must have understood the delicacy of the situation."

Roy sighed. "If he will say anything, I don't believe it will be willingly. Nevertheless, we should still be careful."

"Do you think Brigadier General Connors will be able to connect Syndow to Thornlace?"

"Connors, as much as I hate to admit it, is a clever man. So yes, I believe he will. That's why we have to keep ourselves a step ahead of him." And with that, Roy parked outside the building in which Dr. Thornlace's office was. In a matter of moments, he was knocking at the door, Riza next to him and on the lookout for anything unusual.

"Damn it!" Roy hissed under his breath. "At a time like this…"

Roy didn't finish his sentence because, at that moment, the sound of another door opening made both him and Riza turn. A woman was standing at the threshold of the apartment across the hall, looking at both of them warily.

"Excuse me," she said. "Can I help you?"

Now if there was anything that Roy knew very well except his Flame Alchemy, was how to talk smoothly to someone of the opposite sex. So, without losing a beat and assuming the most innocent possible expression, he scratched the back of his head in a somewhat embarrassed manner.

"Oh… pardon me. Had I realised that someone would be in this apartment, I wouldn't have been so loud. Did I wake you up?"

The woman's expression softened at once. "Well, no. I was… already up."

"Nevertheless, it was quite inconsiderate of me," Roy said at once, bowing his head slightly. "I hope your husband didn't mind too much."

The woman blushed at once. "I'm not married."

"Oh?" Roy flashed his most charming smile. "In that case, I don't _really_ regret my lack of discretion. Is that all right?"

And the woman giggled.

Riza just sighed inwardly.

Her commanding officer was just impossible at times.

* * *

"Any luck?" Falman asked Breda as he walked inside the Colonel's office to find the warrant officer already there.

"No. Connors' men either don't know anything, or they've seen through my attempts to get the information from them," Breda answered. "What about you?"

"Not all that much. From what I gathered from the Brigadier General's escort, Connors just got a phone-call practically in the middle of the night – he said he clearly heard it ringing – and then, just like that, Connors started barking out orders to take him to Professor Syndow's house."

"Hmm. By the looks of it, somebody must have tipped him off."

"But who?" Falman wondered. "We're the only ones who knew about Syndow."

"True," Breda said, crossing his arms and frowning in thought. "Maybe you and Beregond were followed."

Falman shook his head. "I didn't see anything and neither did Beregond. And we would have certainly have noticed if another car was tailing us whenever Havoc would drive us at Syndow's estate."

"Intriguing, I must say," said another man's voice. It was Roy Mustang, and he was now entering the room, followed by Lieutenant Hawkeye. "Nevertheless, somebody _did_ draw attention to Syndow, and we need to know why."

"Sir!" Breda and Falman said, saluting. "Did you find Dr. Thornlace?" the warrant officer asked next.

"No," Roy said with a shake of his head. "The doctor has gone to West City on a conference and he will be gone for a month. The neighbour across the hall of his floor was kind enough to tell me so."

"That works to our advantage," Breda noted. "He's gone out of Connors' reach if he decides to talk to him."

"Not really," Roy said. "Psychologists always keep a record of their meetings with their patients; preferably an audio tape. The sergeant's meeting was no exception."

Falman and Breda winced. "If Connors finds the tape…" Falman started.

At that moment, however, Riza drew out of the inner pocket of her uniform a reel with magnetic tape on it and handed it to Roy.

"Let's just say that, while the good neighbour was offering me a cup of tea, Lieutenant Hawkeye kept herself busy otherwise," Roy said, putting on one of his pyrotex gloves. "Hairclips are quite useful for unlocking doors; always keep that in mind, gentlemen." A snap later, and the reel had become a pile of ashes. "If this doesn't end Connors' search, it will at least slow it down considerably."

Falman shook his head. "Connors could still have Beregond interrogated to determine Syndow's connection to him."

Roy smirked. "Sergeant Beregond isn't presently at Eastern Headquarters. He has been sent away on a most important, _confidential_ mission and the time or day of his return isn't certain."

Breda grinned as he caught on. "So he's gone to find the Elric Brothers, hasn't he? And judging by Havoc's absence, he's not alone in his trip."

Roy nodded. "Of course Fawcette is still in Central, but that is currently the least of our concerns. Havoc will keep an eye on things so nothing goes wrong, and I gave him instructions to ask Hughes to do the same thing." He went up to his office and sat down, placing his elbows on the desk and knitting his fingers together. "Now, all we have to do is keep a careful watch and make sure we'll never face such a close call again."

It was then that the door opened, but there was no reason for alarm. It was only Sergeant Major Fuery, accompanied by Hayate. Breda took a few steps back, keeping his eyes on the canine.

"Sorry for being late, Sir," Fuery said, saluting.

"No problem. What did you find?" Roy asked, eyes locked on the young soldier.

"Sir, it's been circulating that Brigadier General Connors received a telephone call early in the morning which mobilised him to such actions."

"Yes, Warrant Officer Falman gave that same bit of information a few minutes ago."

"But that's not all, Sir. As I was returning here, Hayate escaped from the leash and, upon retrieving him, I overheard a couple of soldiers talking. They had orders to escort Professor Syndow to Central."

Everyone was certainly puzzled at this.

"Who would want Professor Syndow in Central?" Riza spoke, her wonder evident in her voice.

Roy crossed his arms and frowned. "Whoever they are, they must have some damn good reasons to want such a thing at this time." Roy would have to make a phone-call to Hughes as soon as possible. And he now regretted sending Beregond to Central, because now it felt like he was sending him into the lion's den.

He could only hope that luck would be on their side.

* * *

Connors was sitting on his desk, tapping absentmindedly his pen on the wooden surface in a slow, monotone rhythm as one thought after the other started piling in his mind. He was quite troubled, more than he cared to admit to himself, in fact.

After all, it was no small matter realising that perhaps the Führer was interested in that strange man who practically came out of nowhere more than half a year ago.

"_Do you know why you are here?" Connors asked Syndow. The professor was sitting in a chair in front of the brigadier general, looking quite serene and undaunted by his surroundings._

"_I was hoping you would tell me," Syndow answered simply._

"_I do know that your presence is requested in Central by the Führer himself. Yet you have no idea what he could be wanting from you?" Connors insisted. _

"_I have kept myself afar from the machinations of the military for too long, I fear. I have no notion as to what use could be a professor of literature in the army," Syndow said._

"_Yet it has fallen to my attention that your contacts with the military were renewed only recently."_

"_Indeed? Do pray tell."_

_Connors was getting quite annoyed now. "Are you ready to deny the fact that you have spoken to a certain Sergeant Beregond?"_

_But Syndow only smiled broadly._

"_Though I am aware that Mr. Beregond serves the State Military, his visits were hardly of militaristic nature, I assure you. Mr. Beregond is just a language enthusiast who wished to share some of his theories with me."_

"_Just theories?" Connors said, raising an eyebrow._

"_To ask that question, it means that you already have reasons to believe otherwise," was all that Syndow said._

"_And perfectly sound ones," Connors retorted. "I noticed in your living room a suit of armour which I am quite positive it belonged to Sergeant Beregond."_

"_Yes, that is right," Syndow said. "Sergeant Beregond gave it to me as a gift. It was a most thoughtful action of his, and the least I could do was place it in the most prominent spot in the house."_

"_And the drawing on the wall?"_

"_Another friend's present. It's a depiction of how that armour was worn."_

"Was?" _Connors echoed._

_Syndow smiled again. "I do not believe Sergeant Beregond is still wearing it, does he?"_

_Connors growled inwardly. "Would you care to know that that man was discovered in a semi-wild state with no knowledge of human speech or even with such a thing as a human conscience?"_

"_I am actually aware that he was discovered under unique circumstances. Incapable of human speech or conscience, however… that is quite the misassumption."_

"_Nevertheless, he could certainly not have the knowledge that is required to become a 'language enthusiast'. So what was he really looking for in your house, Professor?" Connors said, his tone reaching to dangerous levels of indignant._

_Syndow, however, still retained his calm demeanour. "I've already told you: he wanted to share some of his theories with me." He interlaced his fingers and eyed Connors thoroughly. "You may think little of the particular sergeant, Brigadier General, but I assure you his mind is very unlike yours… or of most people, for that matter."_

"_Oh, I see," Connors sneered. "He's like one of those intellectually handicapped people who can just amazingly perform complicated math equations, I suppose?"_

_Syndow shook his head. "Narrow-minded people can say something like that. It's what makes this world the way it is, I suppose." And with that, Syndow stood up._

_That angered Connors to no end. "I'm not done questioning you."_

"_But I'm done answering your questions," Syndow said, his eyes glinting with slight anger of his own. "Your problem, Brigadier General, is that you think of yourself as far more superior than the others. That confidence of yours wavers, however, when you realise that someone manages to outsmart you."_

"_How dare you…!"_

"_Am I wrong?" Syndow said, not in the least fazed. "Or do you think of me so thick that I would not notice your shock upon seeing the armour in my living room?" A smirk appeared on the old man's lips. "You hate that suspicion that gnaws in your mind, don't you? That you and the top dog himself are probably both interested in the same object of observation? You were hoping you would get to impress your boss by making a small surprise discovery, perhaps even get a big promotion; but now it seems that you just got used like a common pawn." _

_Before Connors had the chance to say anything, Syndow walked up to the coat rack, where his hat was hanging, and picked it up. "Who knows, perhaps the Führer will ask me the same questions; maybe he's willing to know about Mr. Beregond, too. Maybe he'll ask me politely – or he'll force the answers out of my mouth. He might even execute me if it serves his purpose. But…you'll still never find out what you want."_

_And with that, he was out and actually telling the soldiers that he was ready to depart for Central, while all Connors did was watch the old man go, an incredulous expression settling on his features._

Connors arose with a huff and started pacing up and down the office. The more he thought about his 'talk' with Professor Syndow, the more furious he became. And it didn't help matters when, upon ordering one of his subordinates to find Sergeant Beregond and bring him to his office immediately, he was told that the Sergeant had departed for Central early in the morning.

_Things are just turning from bad to worse,_ Connors thought dismayed. He could notify Fawcette about this and order him to find the sergeant in order to transfer him back to East, there was no denying that. But he couldn't do that without some reasonable justification.

Damn it all, what was he supposed to do? If there was anything that Connors hated was his plans getting foiled.

But…

Connors stopped in his tracks as realisation hit him. What was it that Syndow had said?

_You may think little of the particular sergeant, Brigadier General, but I assure you his mind is very unlike yours… or of most people, for that matter._

_He's like one of those intellectually handicapped people who can just amazingly perform complicated math equations, I suppose?_

_Narrow-minded people could say that._

Though it sounded otherwise, Syndow _hadn't_, in fact, denied Connors words. There _was_ something off with that sergeant. Except Syndow had the thoughtlessness of actually admiring that in the man.

And so it was that another thought occurred to Connors.

What if he treated the sergeant's case like some kind of medical case? After all, dressing up in armour and talking gibberish didn't only indicate that the man was just from another country…

It was true that Fawcette had already tried that approach in the early days of the sergeant's appearance, when Mr. Beregond was still charged with the murder of those women so long ago; it was also true that medical records were classified. But this time Connors would pursue the matter till the end. He would make sure of that.

Connors instantly opened the door of his office and ordered one of his men to bring him a list of every known psychologist in East City. In the meantime… he would call Colonel Douglas and get a very special permission.

TBC…


	22. First Arrival

"Thus it was that Frodo the Ringbearer passed to the Undying Lands, and finally found that small measure of peace that, though all of us seek, very few are ever able to find. Aragorn, now known among his people as Elessar, ruled in the land of Gondor, bringing harmony and prosperity that easily matched the days of old. And though the Fellowship was broken, its members were forever bound with friendship and love; and the days that they fought against evil and defeated it were forever engraved in their minds."

"Mister, did the Elf-princess really become mortal?"

The other children that had gathered around in the seats that Havoc and Beregond occupied now looked at the Gondorian expectantly for the answer.

"Yes, she did," Beregond answered with a small smile, not in the least surprised at the small audience that he had acquired during his story-telling.

"But then… she died too!" one of the girls said, her large eyes widening.

"Eventually," Beregond replied. "But she never regretted her decision; because, as she told her husband, she would rather share one life-time with him than face eternity all alone."

"That's so romantic," another girl stated with a sigh.

"Pfft… only a girl would do a dumb thing like that," a boy said.

"Hey!" the girls in the group protested.

But Beregond just chuckled. "There will come a time that you won't believe that, my young friend. Trust me on it," he said.

"What about Legolas and Gimli? Did they die, too?" another boy asked then.

"Well…" Beregond started, but at that moment the loud voice of a conductor announcing that the train was arriving in Central stopped him. He shook his head and looked at the children. "I'm afraid, children, _you_ will have to decide on that."

There were lots of moans of disappointment from the children; nevertheless, they started rising to find their parents.

"Dad, there was this man who said the best story ever!"

"Yeah, it had Elves… and knights… and wizards…"

"And Hobbits!"

"I heard him," one of the parents said, smiling at his kid; then turned to face Beregond. "You have quite the imagination. Have you ever considered writing that story into a book?"

Beregond blinked. "Well, no…"

"You really should," the man said, taking out of his pocket a small business card. "If you ever decide to put that or any other stories on paper, call me. I'll be happy to help out."

Beregond looked at the card, reading the name on it carefully. _Gary Harper – editor._

"Err… thanks. I'll think about it."

The man just smiled and took his son from the hand and left. Whereas Beregond still remained looking at the card for a while, frowning.

"It wasn't a fairy tale…" he said softly in a hurt manner.

"No, it wasn't," Havoc said after being silent for so long. He had a strange, thoughtful look on his face as he looked at Beregond's direction. "I now understand what you left behind."

Beregond sighed. "It was home. What more can be said?"

Havoc nodded and started picking up his bags; but there was clearly something eating his mind. "Beregond…"

"Hmm?"

"This world can become home, too… if you want it."

"I know," the Gondorian said with a faint smile, his eyes reflecting the gratitude at the encouragement. "Thanks."

Havoc grinned and started walking out. "Have you ever been to Central before?"

"Not really," Beregond replied with a shake of his head, following closely behind. "I mean, I've seen the station before when the boys and I had to change trains to head north on one occasion, but that's about it."

"Really? Good thing we're here now."

Beregond blinked. "Why?"

"Because Central really comes alive at nightfall. There are all kinds of places one can go to; clubs, bars, restaurants, dance floors, you name it," Havoc answered naturally. "Anything that two well-respected gentlemen of our age can go and have one hell of a good time."

"But…" Beregond paused so he could watch his step as he got out from the train. "But we've only just arrived!"

"Hey, I didn't say we should go _now_," Havoc said, chuckling. "We'll report to Central Headquarters, find ourselves some temporary dorms where we can put our stuff and then I'll call Sarah…"

Havoc never had the chance to ever finish his sentence because, at that moment, a young street urchin bumped into him.

"'Scuse me," the young boy said, not looking up; then kept walking as though nothing had happened.

"Yeah, kid, sure," Havoc said, planning to continue on without looking back. "Now… what was I saying again?"

However, Beregond had halted abruptly, and was now looking at the retreating boy with eyes widened. "Havoc…"

He didn't get an answer, something that made the Gondorian turn around to see where the other man was. "Havoc!"

"What?" Havoc had already moved on, the sea of people almost swallowing him; it was a good thing that one could recognise their own name when called even in this uproar.

"That boy…!" Beregond attempted to call, pointing frantically to the said boy's direction.

But this time Havoc didn't hear. He pointed his ear and shrugged, signalling just that. And, to Beregond's dismay, the boy was about to disappear out of view too.

No. He couldn't afford that.

"Hey, kid!"

The boy flinched slightly; Beregond could see that only too clearly in spite of the distance between them. Nevertheless, he didn't stop, or even slow down his step. In fact, he was walking more quickly.

"Kid, wait!"

And the boy started running. Without thinking, Beregond dropped both his suitcase and basket and started giving chase, doing his hardest to avoid any passing people that happened to block his path. Being in Central Station though, Beregond quickly discovered that the best way to do that was shout every once in a while: "Military! Out of the way!" and people would instantly jump aside.

Just as well. The boy had gotten himself out of the station in no time; yet Beregond was still close behind, and soon he was out too.

Beregond stopped in his tracks at once, looking incredulously around him. Never before had he seen so many people in one street at once, nor had he heard such racket from passing cars and carts!

Beregond suddenly felt very, _very_ small - and lost.

"Did you get him?"

Beregond almost jumped at the voice that sounded so suddenly close to him, but it only turned out to be Havoc.

"No," the Gondorian answered. Squinting and doing his best to look above the crowd, he scanned his surroundings for the small form, hoping that he would somehow manage to spot him. "But we have to. He…"

"I know, I know, he got my wallet."

Beregond faced Havoc, surprised, and it was then that he noticed it. His friend was positively fuming and clenching his hands into fists.

"But you said you had your money in…"

"My identification papers were in there."

"Oh."

It was Havoc's turn to face the Gondorian just as surprised.

"Wait a minute… if you weren't chasing him because of the wallet, why did you…?"

But at that moment there was the sound of a loud crash near them, soon to be followed by the very gruff, angry voice of a vendor.

"Damn kid! Watch where yer going!"

The boy did scamper off as quickly as possible, but not before Beregond and Havoc had caught sight of him and started chasing him again. And this time, they mentally shut out all the other human forms and kept their eyes locked on the boy's, very much like predators in the hunt.

Beregond never realised how the streets started becoming narrower and darker; nor indeed that the people were getting fewer with each block of buildings he passed. He just kept running, years of training and the hope that the boy would just have to give it up one way or another giving him the energy to keep going.

The boy, realising that both men were hot on his trail, turned left to a narrow alley, hoping that the darkness in there would cover him and keep him safe. Havoc sprinted ahead in the hopes of catching the young urchin, but Beregond stopped.

"What are you doing?!" Havoc exclaimed, noticing the Gondorian's abrupt halt.

But Beregond merely clapped his hands and then placed them on the ground. In a matter of seconds, there was a great wall at the end of the alley, thus blocking the boy's escape.

Havoc just stared at the newly created wall; then grinned at Beregond's direction. "Nice work."

"Thanks," Beregond said, stepping at the lieutenant's side; then leaned closely so that only his companion would hear him. "I suggest we move with caution. The boy will be certainly scared and I don't want him to be intimidated any further."

"Agreed," Havoc replied, and both men started approaching the child, who was looking at every possible direction for any exits out of his predicament.

It was of no use. Beregond's work was too good.

"Wh-What do you want with me?" he finally asked, turning to face his hunters.

"Easy, kid. Just give me back my wallet and everything will be peachy," Havoc said, holding his palms upwards in a gesture of peace.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" the urchin said.

"Don't lie! I had it with me up until the moment you bumped into me!"

"So what's your point?"

"Child," Beregond said, "What's your name?"

The boy glared at the Gondorian for many moments, unsure what to make of the question, but he decided to indulge the man. "Rick."

"Rick, listen to me for a moment. There's nothing in that wallet that you can either use or sell; but there are some papers that, to my friend, are very important." And with that, Beregond took a couple of steps forward.

"Stay back!" Rick almost shouted.

"If we had wanted to harm you, Rick, we would have hurt you already. I know you understand this," Beregond reasoned. "You saw what I can do, and my friend has a gun which he can use very efficiently. Trust me – he shot _me_ once."

"Hey!" Havoc said defensively.

But Beregond just shrugged in a "Well, it's true" manner; then sat on his heels so that he could make eye contact with the boy. As for Rick, he was darting his look back and forth from Havoc to Beregond. It was clear that his mind was in turmoil now.

"Look, Rick," Beregond finally said, "If it's money you're after, I've already told you there isn't any in the wallet. It's pointless holding on to it. So, please, give the wallet to my friend and we'll just let you…"

"Leave my brother alone!" echoed another voice all of a sudden. Havoc fell on his knees, gritting his teeth as an iron pipe fell sharply on his back.

Beregond turned abruptly. His sword, hidden meticulously under his overcoat, was already in his hands and he had blocked the iron pipe before landing on his shin. Another swing of his sword later, Beregond had sliced the pipe in two and brought himself face to face with another boy.

_Did he say… brother?_ That was the first thing Beregond thought. At the next moment, he noticed that the older boy was breathing heavily, looking frightened at the blade.

_Is he really thinking I'm going to harm him?_

"Watch out!" Havoc cried out and, springing immediately to his feet, tackled Beregond on the ground.

The blonde's force and speed was such that he knocked Beregond's sword out of his hands; even so, it was fortunate that he had reacted so fast. There was a gaping hole where the Gondorian had been standing only seconds before, and debris was flying at every direction, barely missing the two soldiers.

_What the…?_

And then Beregond noticed it. There was a faint smell and a mist filling the air that the Gondorian had come to know quite well ever since ending up in Amestris.

Alchemic residue.

Both men sprang to their feet. Havoc reached for the gun that he had strapped underneath his own coat, whereas Beregond, unarmed yet still willing to fight, placed his body in a defensive stance. They both knew what they were up against.

After all, there was no mistaking that alchemic technique.

"Interesting," Scar said, stepping out of the shadows. "I was told you had remained in East City; yet here you are, terrorising children."

Beregond frowned, not just at hearing Scar's words, but at seeing the Ishbalan's appearance as well. Because the man looked like he had come out of a battlefield, hardly unscathed. There were abrasions and cuts all over his body; his clothes were bloodstained; and he was limping quite badly.

And then everything fell into place.

"You weren't trying to get money for yourself," he said, turning to face Rick. "You were hoping you would be able to buy medicines for him."

Though scared, Rick still had the courage to nod at the Gondorian's direction.

"Makes sense," Havoc said with a shake of his head. "Support between countrymen and all."

"Enough talk!" Scar declared. "Release the boy or die!"

Beregond locked his gaze on the Ishbalan, looking at him intently. "So you are actually willing to protect someone even in the state you're in?"

The only answer he got was Scar's attack. The man lunged forward at his direction, arm aglow.

"Beregond…!" Havoc opened fire, but it was of no use. Scar was too fast and the bullets only whizzed past him.

Surprisingly enough… Beregond did nothing. He simply watched his attacker coming onto him, eyes reflecting nothing but calculation. And then, just when Scar's hand was ready to grasp the Gondorian's head, Beregond clapped and placed his right palm on Scar's own glowing one in the blink of an eye.

At that contact, a terrible shockwave reverberated through the entire alley. Havoc flinched and tried to cover himself, whereas both Gondorian and Ishbalan were thrown backwards at the sheer force of their alchemy.

"You okay?" Havoc cried out, seeing how painfully Beregond had landed on his back.

"Yes." Beregond stood up with a wince.

"What was that?" Havoc asked, scarcely believing his eyes.

"Counter decomposition," Beregond explained, massaging his throbbing hand. "Scar tried to make my insides explode; I tried to do the same with his."

Havoc swallowed hard. "So you fought fire with fire." His gaze drifted on the torn sleeve that surrounded his friend's arm and he bit his lower lip. "That was dangerous."

Beregond didn't answer. He merely nodded slightly, not looking Havoc in the eye; then picked up his sword to place it again under his overcoat and stepped close to Scar. The Ishbalan had remained where he had fallen, not moving and eyes closed no matter how hard Rick tried to shake him awake.

"Keep away!" Rick cried, seeing what was Beregond doing. But when he saw the Gondorian wasn't complying, he grabbed a stone and got ready to throw it at the man.

Beregond was hardly daunted. He simply turned a serene gaze at the boy, raising his hand in a gesture of peace.

"Estelio nín, chen." (Trust me, child)

His words seemed to have reached Rick's heart, because he never threw the stone. In fact, he remained looking at Beregond with eyes widened and mouth agape, even as the sergeant knelt close to Scar, placing a hand on the injured man's chest.

"Is he alive?" Havoc asked.

"Yes," Beregond answered. "My attack never meant to kill him, but with his body in this shape… I was afraid it would anyway."

"Then it looks like I'll have to do it." And with that, Havoc raised his gun. "Move away, Beregond."

Beregond turned at his companion. "Havoc…?" He was certainly surprised now, and he didn't even bother to hide it.

"'Next time we see him, we take him out.' Those were the Colonel's own orders; he gave them while you were in the hospital."

The Gondorian still stared at Havoc for many long moments, clenching his jaw. He didn't want to deal with this now, but he knew he had to.

"I understand. Nevertheless, I need him alive."

"What?! Why?" Havoc asked, blinking.

"Didn't you hear him before?" Beregond said. "He was _told_ I was in East City. Only four people here in Central know me well enough to tell Scar that, but there are only two that Scar would bother asking. The ones he'd expect me to be with."

Havoc breathed in sharply. "The Elric brothers…"

Beregond nodded.

"But if something had happened, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes would have informed the Colonel."

"Then the Colonel would have told him we were coming and someone from the military would have been expecting us, I agree," Beregond said. "But… what if the military doesn't know? Edward and Alphonse always work alone, after all, and they prefer it that way even now that I'm supposed to be their escort. And just look at the shape he's in. What if this happened because they had to fight? What if he actually…?" He didn't continue, feeling his voice betraying him.

It was then that Havoc's eyes widened, finally understanding what was Beregond's true worry.

"We don't know that," he said reassuringly. "Maybe he's in that shape exactly because they managed to fight him back!"

"Like you said, we don't know that." Beregond looked once again at Scar, checking at the numerous wounds. "But I intend to find out." He faced Rick again to address him, but he froze midway.

Neither Rick nor his brother were anywhere to be seen anymore.

"Havoc…"

Frowning, the blond followed Beregond's example and looked around as well; but it was of no use. The boys were gone.

"Damn it…" Havoc hissed through gritted teeth, "They must have left during the commotion."

"And they came back," Beregond added, his eyes locked on the shadows once more. "But not alone."

It was at those words that the crowd of Ishbalans, brought by the boys for assistance, stepped out into the light of the lampposts and surrounded the two men. All Beregond and Havoc could do was exchange glances, the same thought crossing their minds.

They were in big trouble.

TBC…


	23. Second Arrival

The sun was already high up in the sky when the train halted on its final stop at Central Station. The conductors started moving all the passengers to all available exits to ease the traffic that accumulated at this time of day.

One fifteen-year-old blond girl in particular welcomed the chance at being able to stand and move her legs once again.

"Ugh, my back hurts," Winry grumbled under her breath. "Those guys sure do get on these trains a lot even when the conditions are like that…"

She shrugged her shoulders so that her backpack wouldn't be so uncomfortable on her back, and then she started walking again, passing by a tower of a man and a woman with long black hair tied in microbraids. She looked around to find an exit, but there was no such luck. There were just too many people around her.

"Just like always," she muttered indignantly with a huff. "And what the heck is the mountain I'm supposed to find? Damn you, Ed, and your cryptic directions."

She was still looking around when she noticed a familiarly tall and very muscular giant of a man, his whole aura seeming like it was sparkling. The people nearby did their best not to stare at his size and passed him by very quickly.

Realising at once what the "mountain" was, Winry shook her head mentally at Ed's - very correct, in this case - choice of words, and headed at Major Armstrong's direction to greet him.

* * *

"And today is Elysia's birthday! She'll be finally four! Isn't that the best news you've heard yet?"

Roy sighed and started tapping with gloved fingers on the surface of his desk. "Hughes, you realise that's not the reason I called, right?"

"Still, aren't you glad I told you?"

_Damn it, Hughes!_

"I wonder if there's a way to roast someone over the phone," Roy said softly, wanting to see if Maes would get the hint.

"Ooh, the Flame Alchemist is scaring me," Maes said, hardly daunted. "So, you want me to send pictures of her birthday party?"

"Hughes…!"

"Okay, I take that as a 'yes'!" Maes declared happily; but at the next instant, his tone had become very serious. "Now… what seems to be the problem? I usually call you."

"I take it whoever was in the office with you has left?" Roy asked.

Maes hummed a small affirmative. "You can go ahead."

"Right. It has to do with a certain sergeant," Roy said, motioning to Riza to close the door so that no unfriendly ears overheard the conversation. The moment that Riza had complied and resumed working with Fuery, Falman and Breda, Roy continued on. "He left from here with Lieutenant Havoc to find the Elric Brothers just yesterday morning. Have they come to report?"

"No, not yet. But logically, they should have arrived by now. They must be at the dorms or something, resting."

"Good. When you do see them, talk to Havoc without letting Beregond know. Tell him that a man by the name of Ronald Syndow has been transferred to Central, and that he should keep his eyes open for anything unusual. Meanwhile, I want you to find out who could have ordered such a thing and why."

"Sure thing, but… what does that got to do with Beregond?"

Roy huffed. "I'm afraid it's too long a story to tell you over the phone; Havoc will give you a sketch of things. In the meantime, just know that Syndow knows about Beregond's… country of origin."

Maes didn't speak for some moments, clearly contemplating matters. "So what you're saying is that if someone wants that man here, he might learn something about Beregond, too."

"It's more of a hunch, really. Nevertheless, until I know the reason the professor has been escorted there, I have to be ready for anything. And I don't have to tell you that you should keep an eye on Fawcette. Connors might inform him about Syndow."

"You got it," said Maes. "By the way, there's something else. Scar has been spotted in Central."

Roy clenched his jaw momentarily. "That explains why we couldn't find him in East City," he commented wryly. "Any victims so far?"

"Not that we know of. Still, you should thank him at the first chance."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Well, he killed some pretty important people already; high-ranking officers who called the shots in State Military."

"Really?" Roy said then, sitting up in his chair, very interested in what he was hearing now.

"Yup. It's also been circulating that a certain Colonel Roy Mustang is going to be transferred to Central – you know, taking up some of the duties that the deceased had."

"So it's back to Central," Roy mused. "That's not bad at all."

"Careful," Maes said. "Getting promotions at this rate and, more importantly, at this age, is going to earn you a lot of enemies."

"I know," Roy answered simply.

"Which means you should find at least one more person who can understand you and support you," Maes continued.

Roy frowned at this. Wait a minute…

_He'd better not say what I think…_

"So hurry up and get married!"

He did.

"DON'T BE RIDICULOUS!" Roy shouted, and he ended the telephone conversation by slamming the receiver on the handle.

"Colonel, please lower your voice while talking on the phone," Riza said calmly, barely batting an eyelash at the outburst.

* * *

At the sound of the beeping sound at the other end of the line, Maes could do nothing else but chuckle mildly and hang up, too. Roy would never change, but Maes didn't really mind. After all, this was one of the reasons that he befriended the man, and he cared for him as much as one could possibly care for a friend.

That was why he now felt uneasy for not telling Roy about what happened to Ed and Al. Even though Roy always said and acted otherwise, Roy never stopped looking after his youngest subordinate and his brother. It was also true that Roy didn't treat either boy as helpless, but that didn't mean that he wanted them in harm's way if it could be helped.

However, Ed getting tangled himself in what it seemed like a military conspiracy... well, being in harm's way hardly cut it. The boy almost got killed. And Maes was aware that, if Roy found out, he would do anything so that it never happened again - even if it meant risking his goal to become Führer in order to face the officers responsible for Lab 5 and the experiments done in there.

That, Maes decided, wouldn't do. Amestris needed a man like Roy, and Maes would make sure that the country had that man. But Maes didn't plan on leaving the Lab 5 matter to rest either. After all, whoever or whatever was behind it all must have been very influential to conduct such a secret project in the military's very backyard, and they was most probably collaborating with people within the military as well. If Maes managed to find them, then Roy's promotions were a certainty.

It was then that the door opened, cutting Maes off of his musings. Sitting up in his chair and making sure he looked as cheerful as possible, he looked to see who the newcomer was.

"Hello, Mr. Hughes!" a very young girl said, running in his direction.

"Alice!" Maes exclaimed, surprised. "Where is your mother?"

"I'm right here, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes," said Sarah, stepping into the man's office too. She was smiling, and she was holding in her hands a small parcel. "I've finished work, so we can leave whenever you're ready."

_Leave?_ Maes blinked a bit in confusion, but then he smiled knowingly. _That's right. We're all headed in the same direction._

"I'm always ready!" Maes said cheerily, standing up and getting his coat. "I hope you don't mind if we pass by the hospital first though?"

Sarah's eyes widened slightly. "Yes, of course. Nothing's wrong, I hope?"

Whoops… She didn't know.

Well, it was of no use not telling her now.

"No, not really. It's just that Ed and Al are there and I wanted to check up on them."

"Did bad people hurt them? Like they hurt Beregond?"

It was Alice who said that, of course. And there was a very thoughtful expression settled on her features.

Maes couldn't lie. Not to a face like that. "Yeah, they did. But don't worry; they're okay now. In fact, we'll all go see them. Would you like that?"

Alice nodded slightly, something that made Maes smile; then he nodded at Sarah's direction.

It was settled. And, if nothing else, it would do the boys some good to see a familiar face.

Speaking of which, he would have to locate Beregond first thing tomorrow so to tell them of the boys' whereabouts.

And with that last thought and feeling that everything was under control now, he set off with both mother and daughter to the hospital.

* * *

"No way!"

That was the first thing that Winry said as soon as she walked in the hospital room Armstrong led her. Because the form that was covered from head to toe in bandages like some sort of mummy couldn't possibly be Ed!

"Way…" Ed answered, his voice muffled as it came out from layers upon layers of bandages covering his mouth.

"You mean...?" And then Winry got absolutely furious. "How could you get yourself hurt so badly?!"

"Actually, it was less than half this bad at first, but then… a certain major just got emotional and hugged me since I had him worried and all," Ed said, pointing at Armstrong's direction.

Winry's eyes widened, and then she glared at Major Armstrong. He didn't seem to think that there was anything wrong however. Indeed, he was still smiling, his aura sparkling as always. Sighing, she turned to talk to Ed again.

It was then that she caught sight of _Al's_ state. And though the suit of armour bowed his head in shame, it wasn't enough to stop the young girl from shouting out loud:

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU TWO GET YOURSELVES INTO?!"

Before either Ed or Al had the chance to answer that, everyone turned at the sound of a door opening. A lean, middle-aged man was at the threshold, leaning on a cane and looking quite austere at all the occupants in the room – especially at Winry.

"Young lady, this place is a hospital, so I would appreciate it if you kept your voice down for the sake of all the other patients in this floor. Just because your friend is a pipsqueak, it doesn't mean he can't hear you."

And with that, the door closed again. There was a moment of awkward silence; then Winry sighed exasperatingly and scowled at Ed and Al's direction.

"Now look what you've made me do!"

"Us?!" both brothers exclaimed indignantly at once.

But Winry didn't bother to reply that. She still kept talking, now more to herself, as she contemplated matters carefully and eyed both brothers thoroughly.

"That doctor still had a point. You're still recovering, Ed. And if I take under consideration the hug the Major gave you…" She clicked her tongue. "No, I need your body to regain some of its strength before I fix your arm. Rid those bandages by tomorrow and I'll be able to work."

Ed, of course, frowned at those words. "I'm not _that_ badly injured."

"Ed…"

"And the sooner you fix me, the sooner I'll get to fix Al…"

"Ed, I've already said no. One more day without automail won't kill you, and I will be able to work without worrying whether I accidentally hurt you or not."

"But…"

"Damn it, Ed, can't you just do me a favour for once?"

Ed blinked in surprise. There was a tone in Winry's voice that he had never heard before; at least, not in such intensity.

She almost sounded… guilty.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently, looking at her in a puzzled manner.

When Winry hesitated to answer, Ed got his second surprise of the day.

The third surprise came when Winry averted her eyes and said in a small voice: "I was wondering if… the automail broke down because I didn't fix it right…"

Now Edward was certain that his hearing did tricks on him. He looked first at his brother, then at Armstrong, and then to Ross and Bloch, who were standing quietly by the door – until his gaze settled back to Winry.

_She was actually worried about that? _

_She can actually be so sweet?!_

"No! It's not your fault, Winry!" Ed said at once, trying to comfort her.

"It's not?" the girl asked at once, looking up in surprise.

"Of course not! The automail broke because I used it carelessly!" Ed insisted. "You fixed it perfectly as always! You shouldn't worry about it!"

Then again, Ed wasn't aware that Winry had forgotten to put a screw in his automail. And Winry didn't think it would serve any purpose if she said anything about that. After all, why complicate matters, right?

So…

"Of course it's not my fault!" Winry declared at once. "Now we'd better talk about the price for the trip you've put me through!"

Okay, Ed decided… Winry would never be sweet. _Ever._

"Yes!" Armstrong said then. "Once his arm and injuries are fixed, the energetic Edward Elric should be up and about soon!" He placed a heavy hand on Ed's back, not realising that Ed winced. Such was his force, in fact, that the bandages on Ed's face fell off. "And to accomplish that, young Elric, you'll have to be well fed and rested."

"I know that…" Ed muttered under his breath. _And get away from those killer arms of yours!_ He turned to Winry, hoping that she'd somehow help him in his predicament, only to see that she was staring at his tray of food; staring at a glass on it, in particular. A glass filled with…

"Why didn't you drink your milk?"

Ed instantly clenched his teeth and looked away. "As if you don't know…"

Winry raised an eyebrow in incredulity.

"Don't tell me. Still?"

Ed didn't bother with an answer this time, but waited for the next inevitable words of lecture.

"YOU CAN'T HATE MILK FOREVER! IT'S GOOD FOR YOU!"

"SHUT UP! I'M NOT DRINKING ANYTHING SECRETED FROM A COW AND THAT'S FINAL!"

"THAT'S WHY YOU'RE ALWAYS A BEAN!"

Now _that_ was the final straw!

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?!" Ed screeched, ready to throw his pillow at the insolent girl.

He never did. At that moment, a very soft voice echoed in the room.

"Lieutenant Ross, Sergeant Bloch… can you take me up to the terrace?"

It was Al who said that. And that made both fighting teens stop at once to look at him.

"Of course, Alphonse," answered Ross, without so much as missing a beat. If she seemed troubled by that strange request, she didn't show it as she picked one end of the armour and Bloch grabbed the other.

But Winry and Ed were. In fact, they were so surprised that all they could do was stare agape as Al, Ross and Bloch passed through the door and out of sight.

"I guess… we went a little too far," Winry finally said, letting go of Ed's pyjama shirt.

"Yeah…" answered Ed, just as numbly.

Neither could bring themselves to speak again after that. Even Armstrong had grown pretty quiet, content with simply gazing out the window.

That lasted for about a minute, because then the door opened wide and someone _very_ vocal came in, a broad grin plastered on his face.

"Hey, Ed! Wow, I didn't realise your girlfriend was here! Sorry!" said Maes.

Ed felt as though his wound would burst open again.

"She's just my automail mechanic!" he snapped at once. "Why do people have to see things that aren't there?"

"What are you talking about, Ed? I can see her right here!"

Ed was stuttering an angry response to that, when another voice echoed in the room.

"Should we take this as a bad time to walk in?" Sarah said, smiling as well and Alice at her side.

"Mrs Abbot!" Ed exclaimed at once, eyes widening in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"To see you, silly!" replied Alice, walking up to Edward and giving him a hug. "Aren't you happy to see us?"

Ed blinked in mild surprise; then smiled, returning the hug as well. "Of course I am, Alice, you know that."

That made the little girl beam, and she giggled heartily. She still sat at Edward's bedside as the young alchemist introduced her and her mother to Winry. And, when the cordial phrases of greeting were exchanged, Ed finally turned again to Maes.

"So what brings you here, Hughes? I thought you had said you were swamped in work."

"And I still am," Maes admitted, putting his hands in his pockets in a nonchalant manner. "But I managed to get myself an afternoon off for the day."

"Which can be translated as 'I've put Scieszka to do all the work for me today'," Sarah said with a smirk.

Ed shook his head and turned at Maes' direction. "You're evil, you know that?"

Maes only made a face that could only be described as pouting. "And here I am, thinking you would be happy to hear some news that would interest you." He shrugged his shoulders and started walking out. "But, never mind," he continued on, now his tease now more evident, "I can always tell you when I won't be busy – which will probably be some time close to my retirement day really…"

Ed sighed in defeat. "Okay, Hughes. You got me. What kind of news do you have?"

"Well," Maes answered at once, bringing himself back close to Edward and grinning, "it has to do with a certain arrival."

"Arrival," Ed echoed in disbelief.

Maes hummed his affirmative…

… but that was his only reply.

"Well?" Ed said again, raising an eyebrow.

Maes was certainly surprised. "What? Aren't you going to at least take a guess?"

Ed instantly turned red in the face. "Hughes…!"

"All right, calm down, I'll tell you," Maes said at once, trying to appease the young alchemist. "Still, it's no fun this way," he added, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders. "Beregond."

"Really? He's here in Central?"

Surprisingly enough, it wasn't Edward who said that, but Winry. Alice let out a small cry of joy, whereas Armstrong and Sarah smiled. They were all glad to hear this kind of news.

All, that is, except for Ed. He was now swallowing hard, looking at Maes with eyes widened.

"Where is he?"

"Well, my guess is he's resting at the dorms. From what I was told, he arrived quite late last night," Maes said, looking curiously at Edward. "What's wrong, Ed?"

Ed looked at each and everyone, thinking and contemplating matters as carefully as possible under the circumstances. On the one hand, the young alchemist had every reason to be worried. If that Envy creature or Scar were still around, they would have every chance to kill Beregond.

But, on the other hand… he didn't want to worry the others, too. Or frighten Alice, for that matter.

_Beregond knows how to fend for himself._ Ed had to start believing that, for all his natural mistrust in adults.

"Nothing," he finally said. "I just can't believe he actually got on a train!" And with that, Ed chuckled to give further emphasis to his tease.

Maes laughed as well. "Believe it or not, he did. Of course, Second Lieutenant Havoc had to accompany him, so as to make sure Beregond didn't face any problems on his way here."

Ed didn't notice Sarah blushing a bit at this. However, he realised that Maes used his words carefully to show Ed that Beregond was in safe hands and that he shouldn't worry.

"Good," he finally said, smiling at Hughes – also choosing his words carefully. "Al will definitely be happy."

"And I'll finally meet him!" Winry said, grinning broadly. "I guess it was a good thing I forgot that bolt!"

Ed snapped his head at her direction. "Come again?!"

"I, uh… said that… it was a good thing you broke that bolt," Winry said, trying to sound as innocent as possible. Ed tried to say something, but the girl never gave him the chance, because she immediately said next: "You know, it's getting late. I need to get going if I'm to find a place to sleep in tonight."

Ed frowned momentarily. "How about trying out the dorms? You could get in cheap if you use my name."

Winry winced. "Dorms? No way, it sounds too stiff. I'll just find myself an inn or something."

Sarah tried as discreetly as possibly to gesture to Winry not to say that last phrase, but it was too late.

"Why stay at an inn?" Maes said at once. "My wife will be more than happy to accommodate you for as long as you stay here."

To claim Winry was stunned would be quite the understatement.

"I wouldn't presume… I mean, I…"

"Don't worry, there's plenty of room. We had accommodated Sarah and Alice the first few days they were looking for lodgings."

Sarah nodded, signifying that that was very true.

"But--"

"So it's settled!" Maes declared, grabbing the young girl by the wrist. "Let's go right away!"

And with that, he practically dragged Winry all the way out, laughing almost maniacally.

"Now that brings back some interesting memories," Sarah said, smiling embarrassedly. One could almost see the single drop of sweat near her temple.

"Let me guess… that's how he convinced _you_ into staying at his house?" Ed asked, amused.

"Yes," both mother and daughter answered, the one quite stoically, the other giggling as though recalling some sort of fun game.

"Well, we ought to get going, too. Maes must have got a pretty good head-start by now," the woman said. She beckoned Alice to come at her side, something to which the latter complied to. "I hope you get better soon, Edward."

"And tell Al I said 'Hi'!" Alice said, smiling.

"I definitely will," Ed said, sporting a broad grin to Alice; then turned to Sarah's direction. "Thank you for your visit."

"No problem. See you soon."

And with that, she and her daughter were gone. Ed was still smiling, happy to have seen all those people; when, suddenly, he acknowledged Armstrong's presence.

The burly man was crying – again.

"Err… Why are you--?"

"You will be finally reunited with your friend!" Armstrong said happily, and got ready to hug Ed – again.

Ed thought fast.

"Don't you think somebody should tell the news to Al first?"

Armstrong immediately stopped in his tracks.

"Yes, quite right. I will go tell him personally."

Ed mentally sighed in relief. "Yeah, you go and do that. I'll be waiting right here."

Armstrong nodded. "And then I'll go find Sergeant Beregond and bring him here." New streams of tears sprang out of his eyes.

_Uh oh. Not good._

"It will be such a beautiful reunion!"

Ed only managed to squeak out something that resembled "Help!" before he was enveloped by the bear-hug of death.

TBC…


	24. Military's Two Faces

"Are you sure this is the one?" the gruff voice of Brigadier General Connors asked; his stern gaze was locked on the closed door of the apartment before him.

"Yes, Sir," the soldier beside him answered. He sounded almost fearful.

"Good. You know what to do then," Connors said again.

The soldier nodded and, signalling to two more privates, they forced the door open. They weren't subtle about it, that was for certain; because the clatter they made was enough to make a young woman look outside the corridor.

"What is going on?" she asked, bemused.

"Military business, ma'am," another soldier answered. "Please, go back to your apartment."

The woman complied, looking warily at the soldiers; then decided to comply. What she did next though was something that none of Connors' men, or even Connors' himself, would ever be destined to find out.

She phoned to East Headquarters and asked for a certain Colonel Roy Mustang.

* * *

"I see," Roy said, listening intently. "Are they still there? Yes… Very well. Thank you very much for your call." And with that, he hanged up.

"Was it anyone from the others?" Riza asked. She was standing beside the man, handing him the papers that needed the Flame Alchemist's signature.

"No. Breda, Falman and Fuery have already called and reported about Connors' previous break-ins. This was Thornlace's neighbour."

Riza gave him another document. "It seems he hit the target after four trials," she remarked calmly.

"Yes," Roy said, taking the paper and reading it. "I've got to hand it to him, it took him more quickly than I had expected."

"Could that mean he has more clues on Sergeant Beregond's identity, Sir?"

"Maybe." Roy signed the paper in a bored manner. His mind was clearly somewhere else – more important. "That's not what's been bothering me."

"Sir?"

"Think about it," Roy said. "Connors gets a phone call in the middle of the night and he gets ordered to take Syndow to Central. Now he somehow gets the authority to search all the medical examiners' offices? Someone is helping him – and that somebody isn't just _anybody_."

Riza looked at Roy with mild curiosity. "Are you suspecting anyone from the brass, Sir?"

"They're the most likely suspects," Roy said, and started tapping his gloved fingers on the mahogany surface of his desk. "Only _they_ can get such kind of permission from Bradley at such short notice. They're the only ones with enough influence for it."

The lieutenant nodded her understanding, remaining serene. "Any idea who it could be, Sir?"

Roy sighed and shook his head. "None. But… if it comes down to facing one of them, then I will." He turned to Riza's direction. "Are you with me?"

Riza returned the look Roy gave her with the most determined of expressions. "You're asking me that now, Sir?"

That was enough answer for Roy. With a small smile, he took another document that Riza handed to him, and resumed work.

* * *

"Um… Mr. Hughes?"

"Yes?" the man asked. He, along with Winry, Sarah and Alice, was walking down the road to his house.

"What is this for?" Winry asked again, bemused. She was walking right beside Maes, holding a huge teddy bear; whereas Maes himself was carrying three large parcels.

"I'm glad you asked!" Maes declared, smiling broadly.

"And _you_ are going to be _sorry_ you asked," Sarah whispered confidentially to Winry, chuckling; the teasing tone in her voice was quite evident.

"It's my daughter's birthday today!"

"Here we go, Mom," Alice said, rolling melodramatically her eyes and then giggling.

Winry frowned slightly. "Coming to think of it… so is Ed's."

"Yeah, we'll have to get a present for him too," Maes said; then resumed again. "She's going to be four, and it's going to be the first time she'll blow out her birthday candles on her own! Isn't that the most adorable thing you've ever heard?"

Winry winced slightly. "I think I begin to see your point, Mrs. Abbot," the young teen whispered to Sarah.

"You'll get used to it eventually," was all the woman said, smiling. "And I have to admit he has every reason to brag; he's got a wonderful family. You'll see for yourself."

"I like Elysia. We always share our toys," Alice said, nodding her head emphatically; then pointed at the parcel her mother was holding. "I've picked that one for her myself."

"You certainly did," Sarah said, petting her daughter's head lovingly. "And I'm sure she'll love it."

"But I'm still feeling a bit bad," Winry said thoughtfully. "Like I will be imposing on them."

Sarah laughed a bit. "That's what I told them when they offered their hospitality to me and Gracia nearly told me off. Trust me, they are very open-hearted people."

"Here we are!" Maes suddenly announced, standing in front of a small gate, which he had already opened. "Ladies first!"

Alice giggled at this and entered first, followed by Sarah who said: "Charming as always, Mr. Hughes"; and, lastly, came in Winry – she was blushing profusely. Maes smiled broadly once again and closed the gate; then hurried to open the front door of his house.

It wasn't necessary. The door was already open, and two figures stepped out to the porch; a tall, graceful woman, and a very exuberant infant.

"Daddy, welcome home!" the little girl cried out, her chubby little arms already reaching out for Maes.

"Elysia, I wanted to see you so much!" the man said, and wrapped his arms around his daughter's form, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

"Daddy, your beard is tickling me!" Elysia said, laughing.

Gracia, meanwhile, was welcoming Sarah and Alice, clearly gladdened to see them again. And then she noticed Winry, who was standing meekly a little further away.

"And who's this? A relative of yours, Sarah?" she asked the black-haired woman.

It was Maes, however, who answered. "Actually, this is Ed and Al's childhood friend, Winry. She was looking for a place to stay, so I brought her."

"Oh, that's so nice!" Gracia said. "I'm delighted to meet you, Winry."

"Likewise," the teen girl said, taking the hand Gracia offered her and completing the handshake. Meanwhile, Elysia, obviously curious to see a new face, walked up to her and eyed her carefully.

Feeling suddenly very self-conscious, yet thinking that she had better talk to her as well, Winry knelt down and asked with a smile: "Elysia, how old are you?"

Elysia was more than eager to answer the question.

"Thr…" Elysia stopped midway, when she noticed that Alice was gesturing 'No'.

Sarah placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Alice, you don't have to help her. She'll find it," she said gently.

Truly enough, Elysia quickly and proudly announced: "Four!"

"Aww… isn't that simply adorable?!" Maes declared, looking as though little hearts would start flying around his head again.

"Obsessive parent," Gracia and Sarah said at once; something that made them both giggle.

Winry laughed, too. However, it must have been obvious that she was uptight, because Gracia asked her to relax.

"It will take more than that, Gracia," Sarah said, shaking her head. "Winry feels as though she will be intruding if she stays here."

Gracia raised an eyebrow and looked at Sarah's direction. "Like someone _else_ I know," she said teasingly. "Did you tell her what I told you?"

"I didn't think it was necessary," Sarah said, blushing a bit. "I'll leave it to your capable hands."

"Good!" Gracia said, laughing. She then faced Winry, who was looking curiously at both women. "Winry, dear, it's perfectly fine. Besides, isn't it more fun to enjoy the festivities with everyone?" And with that, she took Elysia in her arms and opened the door even wider.

"Welcome to our home!"

Winry's face instantly lit up, and she smiled broadly.

* * *

Taking one slow and deliberate step at a time, Connors moved towards Dr. Thornlace's office. He cast a brief glance at his men, who were still searching the place – or rather, ransacking it - , and looked inside the by now wide-open drawers of the desk.

He had to admit that, at first glance, there didn't seem to be anything of interest in there. However, on closer inspection, Connors noticed that there were several files in them with numbers on them.

_Case files, perhaps,_ Connors thought. He turned to the soldier that was closest to him. "Private, who searched this desk?"

"I did, Sir," the private answered.

"And did you look at those files?"

"Yes, Sir. There was nothing like what you've been looking for."

"I see. Thank you, Private."

The private saluted and resumed with his work. As for Connors, he started pacing up and down the room; not only because he wished to keep an eye on his subordinates, but also because he was becoming impatient. After all, he had hoped that he would have been able to come up with some results by now, and yet there was nothing.

That proved frustrating, considering that he thought his train of logic had been sound.

So… what was he missing?

"Hey, watch it!" another private cried out at that moment, but it was too late. A bookcase that had been knocked about too roughly had already tipped over and landed on the ground with a deafening sound.

"Now you've done it," Connors said coolly, looking at the two soldiers responsible for the mess. "Just clean it up, will you?"

"Yes, Sir," the two soldiers said, quite flustered. They immediately placed the piece of furniture back to its original place, and then reached for the books in order to put them on the shelves. They were in so much hurry that they didn't care whether they were placing the books in the exact shelf they were before.

And, not to mention, they treated the books quite poorly – whenever they weren't slipping right through their fingers precisely because of their haste.

One of the two soldiers swore under his breath as he, truly enough, accidentally dropped a small black journal-like book, thus making several loose pages that were within it spill out on the floor. He reached for them so that he would put them back in order, no matter how sloppy the result would be.

Connors, however, stopped him. For he had also knelt down in order to pick up one of the aforementioned papers that had happened to land beside his military boots; and what he caught sight of on it had astounded him.

* * *

Jamie Kinkard, the soldier who was behind the desk at the dorms' quarters, didn't have to look up to understand that someone very heavily-built was coming his way; that someone had a particularly loud, weighty gait that _almost_ shook the ground.

Not to mention that that someone had a very, _very_ large shadow, which was now covering the said soldier and making it almost seem as though there was no daylight filling the room. Looking up, Kinkard settled with a small, mental _Ah… why am I not surprised?_, and then stood up to salute Major Armstrong.

"At ease, soldier," Armstrong said cordially, waving his hand dismissively. He was smiling, and his sparkly aura seemed brighter than ever.

"Sir," Kinkard said, lowering her hand and relaxing her stance. "How can I help you?"

"I was told that you had a couple of new arrivals from East Headquarters and I wanted to see them," Armstrong explained. "They're Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc and Sergeant Beregond."

Kinkard actually hesitated. "Um… Sir, I didn't place anyone with such names in the dorms."

Armstrong's cheery countenance wavered. "Well, they should be here. They left the East City yesterday morning."

"Let me check the archives, Sir," Kinkard suggested, reaching nervously for a large notebook which was sprawled open beside her. She turned the pages slowly, her eyes scanning carefully on the names registered there, until finally she looked up at Armstrong again and said: "They're not registered, Sir."

"That can't be right," Armstrong insisted.

"Nevertheless, their names aren't written, Sir."

Armstrong didn't speak again for some time, clearly contemplating matters. "Were you here at all hours today?"

"Yes, Sir."

"What about last night?"

"No, Sir. Private Greg Sommers was on duty."

"Is he here?"

"Not at present, no. He will relieve me at 7 o' clock, Sir."

Armstrong frowned instantly, but the soldier then had another idea.

"Do you want me to call him, Sir? He should be at his quarters."

"Do that."

Kinkard nodded at once and reached for the phone, placing the receiver in her ear and dialling the numbers swiftly. She waited patiently for a few moments, and then she pricked up her ears as she got an answer.

"Sommers? It's me, Kinkard. Yes, I know you were resting, but this couldn't wait. Did you, by any chance, receive two new arrivals from East City? Their names were…" Kinkard stopped as she listened for a moment at the voice at the other side of the line. "I see. Right. Thanks." And with that, she hanged up.

"So what was his answer?" Armstrong asked.

"Negative, Sir. In fact, no new arrivals checked in yesterday."

Armstrong crossed his arms, which told Kinkard that the major was dismayed to hear such news, even worried. Then, without so much as a second thought, he turned around and headed for the door.

"Major?"

"I need to confirm something," was all that Armstrong said before vanishing out of the door and out of sight.

* * *

"Yes, what can I do for you?" asked the cashier, looking curiously at Armstrong.

Armstrong, however, didn't arrive at Central's train station to exchange courtesies; so, he got straight to the point.

"I'm looking for these two gentlemen," he said, taking out from his military jacket two pieces of paper. One of them had a quick sketch of Havoc, whereas the other was a sketch of Beregond.

The cashier looked at the sketches carefully. He didn't speak for several moments, something that made the burly man frown. After all, Armstrong's sketching talent was passed down to him generations upon generations. So it couldn't possibly be _that_ difficult to recognise the two men.

"I haven't seen them personally," the cashier said finally, handing back the pictures. "But I do remember one of the security personnel talking about two people whose descriptions fit the sketches. You should go talk to him."

"Where can I find him?" Armstrong asked.

"Right next to the entrance of gate No. 2."

"Thank you." And with that, Armstrong turned on his heel and left. It didn't take him long to find the man he was looking for.

"Oh yeah, I remember them. It would be hard not to," the security man said, looking at the pictures. He pointed at the picture of Beregond. "I especially remember this guy. Really weird, that one."

"How so?"

"Well, the one moment he was walking perfectly fine, and the next he dropped everything and started running wildly, shouting the whole time 'Military! Out of the way!' The other guy had to drop everything and start running after him."

"Didn't you try to stop them?" Armstrong asked again, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course I did. But I last saw them just outside of the train station where they blended in with the crowd," the security man said. "Their belongings were picked up and placed on the 'Lost and Found' section over there."

"I see. I'll go and retrieve them," Armstrong said thoughtfully. He took the pictures from the security man's hand and went to get Havoc and Beregond's belongings, one ominous thought after another cramping into his mind.

_What happened to them?_

Whatever it was, Armstrong would have to find out. The two men's lives might depend on it.

* * *

"What's so special about that notebook?" a soldier whispered close to his colleague's ear.

"No idea," the other said, shrugging slightly. "Whatever it is, it must be really important to make Connors keep his eyes glued on it and read it like that."

That was the kind of conversation that was happening behind Connors back, as the Brigadier General walked down the corridors of East Headquarters to his office. The two soldiers were escorting him, and they were more than just slightly puzzled by that kind of behaviour from their commanding officer.

"Maybe that Thornlace guy is a spy? I heard he was born in Drachma."

"From the little I managed to see on the pages I picked up, it didn't seem to have anything like military information."

"Maybe it's in a code?"

"You watch too many movies," the second soldier finally declared, rolling his eyes.

And that was when they also had to end their conversation, because they had finally reached to their destination. The soldiers stood on each side of the door frame, and one of them opened the door, saluting.

"Thank you," Connors said, keeping his eyes on the book and yet somehow finding his way to his chair behind his desk and sitting down. "You're dismissed for the next hour."

The two soldiers exchanged a brief look, not sure what to make of that order. Connors _never_ dismissed his men, wishing to have them available at all hours.

Nevertheless, orders, no matter how strange or unnatural they sounded, were orders. And so the soldiers merely saluted, uttering a brief: "Sir!"; and then walked out, making sure the door was closed behind them.

Connors only spared one glimpse at the wooden door; then found the place where he had stopped his reading and started once again:

_B., by re-experiencing his death, was able to give a very vivid description of it, giving us proof to one of the alchemist's most well-known theories: that the human being is separated into the mind, the body and the soul. The soul is the energy which, through the mind's mechanisms, gives power to the shell (the body); in very much the same way that electricity, through a small metallic coil, gives power to a light-bulb. In both cases, all three parts must function properly so that there can be light – whether it is the literal one, or the figurative one that is life. Yet, like electricity, the soul is the only part that truly never wears down, being the energy that it really is. And, even though till now we weren't sure just where that energy went the moment the body or the mind stopped functioning, that small transcript taken from B.'s hypnotic session already attached in these pages has finally given us an answer to that as well._

"B…" echoed Connors, a smile forming on his lips. "As in… **B**eregond."

_Gotcha._ And, as though fate was making it up to him, he had stumbled across something much bigger than he had expected. Now, all he wanted was to confirm one last thing and then he would have his solid case – and a certain promotion.

Chuckling and feeling quite pleased with himself, he picked up the phone and dialled one well-known number, and waited till he heard Fawcette's voice at the other end of the line.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Lieutenant Colonel, I have another job for you."

"Which is, Sir?" Fawcette asked.

"Sergeant Beregond is in Central. As soon as you locate him, place him under arrest."

If Connors could see Fawcette, he would have seen a malicious grin forming on his subordinate's face.

"Will do, Sir."

_TBC…_


	25. Inquiries

The first thing that he registered as he started waking up was that his head was heavy and his body was hurting all over. The smell of blood reached his nostrils, and he didn't take a great mind to understand that it was _his_ blood he smelled. Then, the sound of movement made him prick up his ears and, suddenly, a warm hand was placed under his forehead.

This wasn't right. What had happened?

Only then did he remember. He had run… he saw Rick… and someone he didn't expect. Teeth clenched involuntarily as he recalled the fight – and how the Sergeant had beaten him at his own game.

And yet… why was he alive? What had happened in the meantime? Was… was he saved? Again? The Ishbalan camp was close, after all.

Scar's thoughts were interrupted as his head was lifted slightly, and then sensed a wet cloth moistening his lips.

He _was_ saved. That was the only explanation Scar could come up with. Curious enough to see who was taking care of him and feeling himself alert once more, Scar slowly opened his eyes, grunting slightly as though even that small motion ached him.

"So you're awake," a calm voice said.

Scar's hair immediately stood on end_. _He knew that voice! And he certainly knew that face when he turned at that voice's direction!

"How dare you touch me?!" Scar practically snarled, baring his teeth in fury. At the next moment, blinded by hatred, he tried to lunge against the insolent man… only to be yanked backwards by what it seemed was an invisible force.

No… not an invisible force. It was a metallic buckle that pinned his right arm by the wrist on the ground. Growling in dismay, Scar used his left hand to try and break the buckle open, but it was no use. There _was_ no opening.

"Don't waste your energy. I've used Alchemy," Beregond said calmly. "And only _I _can reverse the reaction."

Scar swore loudly and doubled his efforts to get loose somehow. Beregond didn't seem to be alarmed though. He simply sat on his knees, mere inches out of the Ishbalan's reach, watching him without as much as blink; until finally, overcome by exhaustion and pain, Scar had to lie down again to catch his breath.

"I warned you," Beregond simply said, his tone neutral.

"Damn you," Scar managed to retort weakly. He looked at his surroundings, hoping he would find a way out of his predicament. Only then did he notice something very odd.

He was at Rick and Leo's tent. The same one in which he was taken care of the previous time.

But that could only mean that he was in the Ishbalan camp! How…?

"Where are the others? What have you done to them?" he asked, turning his gaze at Beregond.

"They're outside. And the only thing I did was talk to them."

Scar snorted. "And they actually let you live, traitor?" He caught a glimpse of a frown on Beregond's countenance, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"You might not believe it, but not everyone thinks like you."

"If they knew what _I_ know, they would," Scar said. "Did you tell them your _name_, Man of Stone?"

Beregond raised an eyebrow of curiosity. "So you did figure out my name. I was wondering about that ever since I learnt about your language. It doesn't exactly mean that, for your information, but it's close enough."

"Are you mocking me?" Scar said in a low growl. "I know the ancient writings!"

"Do you now?" Beregond said, hardly disturbed. "Did you think how far behind do those ancient writings go? A mere two, maybe three thousand years at most?"

"What are you talking about?"

Beregond just smiled bitterly. "Something that is far bigger than you or I." He sighed. "And to answer your previous question, I didn't tell them. They didn't ask."

"So what _did_ you tell them?"

Beregond shrugged. "In a few words: that Rick has something my friend wants; whereas _I_ want something from you. Once we get what we want, we'll be gone and this incident will be forgotten."

"Funny sort of arrangement, since you're prisoners."

"They're ideal, considering the threat the rest of the military will prove if they so much as _suspect_ we got hurt in this area. Even more so if it is found out that one of the most dangerous serial killers has been hiding here – under the refugees' protection," Beregond said.

Scar arose at the best of his ability because of the buckle and shot an angry glare at Beregond's direction. "You wouldn't dare!"

Beregond merely returned the gaze without wavering. "It's not a matter whether I dare or not. It's a matter of how will these people be protected from harm."

"What do you care what happens to them?" Scar almost shouted.

"I'm a soldier _and_ an alchemist; it's my job to worry about what happens to the innocent. How about you?"

Scar froze, still glaring at the sergeant. How dared he talked to him like that? He was nothing but a traitor, a man who wasn't worthy of the blood that was flowing in his veins, a man who…

A man who, unfortunately, had a point.

Huffing in dismay, Scar simply lied down again and locked his gaze upwards on the tent.

"Just say what you want and get out."

There was silence for a few moments, and then Scar heard Beregond say: "Do you swear on any honour that might be in you that you'll tell me the truth?"

Now that caught Scar by surprise. "It sounds to me like you want something important from me."

"As important as your revenge," Beregond answered.

Scar contemplated matters for a moment. "All right. But I want something from you as well. It's the Law of Equivalent Exchange, after all."

Beregond didn't answer at once. _He's thinking his options,_ Scar said in his mind. _Not that he has all that many._

"You have my word. I'll give you what you want."

"Are you _that_ desperate?" Scar said, turning at Beregond's direction and smirking. "For all you know, I will probably ask your life as prize."

"But you won't," Beregond said serenely. "Because I already know you want to know about your brother's arm."

If Scar was surprised before, now he was utterly dumbfounded. "How could you know this?" he exclaimed, unable to help himself.

"You talk too much while delirious," Beregond explained, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "Now, answer my question and answer truthfully. I'm already aware that you've encountered the Elric Brothers here in Central. However, I want to know what happened. From the moment you came across them to the point that you parted ways with them."

Scar stared at Beregond. "I see. So you didn't know what they were doing."

Beregond shook his head tensely. "So start talking."

"Very well." And with that, Scar started narrating his tale. How he had found out that the boys were in an abandoned laboratory and came across the youngest of the Elric Brothers, fighting someone in a suit of armour just like the boy's; how he agreed with Al to enter the abandoned building to find Edward Elric's whereabouts; and how they came across creatures that, though resembling humans, were nothing like it. He also said how he tried to fight them back, and the woman-like creature made the wall collapse on him with the intention of killing him; and, lastly, how he managed to get out of the rumble and found the Elric Brothers in the main hall of the lab, threatened to create the Philosopher's Stone at the expense of prisoners that where brought there for that exact purpose. It was to Scar's intrigue to see Beregond's face becoming paler and his expression more concerned as he listened on; until, unable to help himself, he asked:

"Did they… create it?"

The tone was so soft that Scar barely heard the question.

"No. Fullmetal couldn't bring himself to do it."

A sigh escaped the man's lips – a sigh of… relief? Scar looked at the sergeant with mild incredulity.

But it was clear Beregond needed to know more. "So what happened?" he asked now anxiously, impatiently.

"Those creatures were ready to attack him – but I attacked them first. They fled, not wishing to be around when the building would start to collapse, and I shouted to Fullmetal to take his brother and escape. That was the last I saw of them."

When Beregond spoke next, after many long moments, his voice was hoarse, and his features were etched with worry.

"So you don't know if they've managed to get out."

Scar frowned as he tried to remember. "No. I just ran and that was it."

Beregond again didn't speak at once. However, Scar noticed that the sergeant was clenching his jaw violently, and his hands were balled into fists that were doing their best not to betray their owner and start trembling.

"They're better off dead. Ishbala will receive them in his arms and forgive them their sins."

Beregond clapped and blue light surrounded them both. The motion was so abrupt and so fast that Scar froze, still staring incredulously until he finally registered that… his right arm was free. Scar turned to Beregond's direction, unsure as to what to say, but Beregond proved faster.

"Your brother's arm is an incomplete Philosopher's Stone; a powerful one at that."

Scar's eyes widened. "Philosopher's Stone? The name is familiar and yet… I haven't heard it before."

"It's the arm providing you the knowledge. Within its arrays are some of the most important answers to life and death itself, and the arm is feeding them to you. But the arm also takes, obeying the law of Equivalence. When Marcoh used his stones against you, the arm absorbed their energy, making itself more potent. That's why it hurt you." Beregond locked his gaze on Scar. "But that's not the only kind of energy it feeds on. When you kill people, the energy that is their soul is absorbed by your arm. The more people you kill, the more powerful the arm will become until the stone becomes a complete one, ready to be used as you want."

"And you know this?" Scar asked, raising an eyebrow. "How?"

But Beregond stood up. "We both got what we wanted. There's nothing more left to say, except thank you." And with that, he turned on his heel and went outside. Scar could see the sergeant's outline under the grey light of dawn as he shivered, obviously not expecting the chill – and then Beregond was gone.

Scar remained still, his gaze still locked at the tent flaps that were gently swaying after Beregond walked through them. After many moments and before he could help it, he stared down at his right arm.

_A Philosopher's Stone?_

Damn it, instead of finally finding the answer he had been looking for, he had only become more confused.

And then another, darker thought entered his mind.

_What if he lied?_ If Scar found out that that was the case, then he would hunt down the sergeant and have him share the fate of all his previous victims.

But, then again, who would claim his arm would be something like that and would be lying about it?

_I need to find out more._ And yet he had no intentions of asking Beregond again. After all, the sergeant was right – they both kept their word, made the exchange, and that was that. He'd have to look for his answers somewhere else, even if it meant learning more about this accursed science.

And he knew just where he could do that. He attempted to rise, wishing to find the person that _would_ teach him Alchemy, but he had to sit back down again as the pain that coursed through him numbed his very core. Biting his lower lip, he quickly looked down at his leg – the source of his pain – to assess its condition.

It was heavily bandaged, especially at the area of the ankle; and his foot hurt him whenever he tried to move – though less than before his encounter with the sergeant, admittedly.

It was at that moment that Scar noticed that there was something odd.

He could smell disinfectant.

But Rick and Leo didn't keep any. In fact, they didn't have any medicines at all. That was what made Rick venture out to steal money in the first place, even though Scar wouldn't have it.

What was the meaning of this?

And then he remembered something else; something _very_ important.

Beregond's palms, though hidden as the man kept his hands in fists, were stained red.

Stained with blood.

_You talk too much when you're delirious_, that's what the sergeant said. But the only way he could have possibly known that was…

_He didn't. _

_Did he?_

Yet for all his denial, Scar knew that there was only _one_ answer to that. And that's what made Scar wonder just who _was _that man; for he was the strangest one he had encountered yet.

øøøø

_Keep walking_, his mind commanded him, but it was of no use. After several steps to a direction that he wasn't even sure _why_ he was taking it, Beregond found himself turning abruptly to land a fist against a nearby stone wall; then fell on his knees. His head bowed as cold claws of worry and frustration clutched his heart and squeezed it so hard it hurt. And all the while, one thought after another shook his very soul, so very much like prayers to the sky above.

_I don't need this… Not now…Please, let them be alive… Please, let them be okay… Why couldn't they wait a day longer? Why didn't I come sooner…? _

"Mister? You okay?"

Beregond stopped at once at the sound of Rick's voice. In fact, he barely moved, resembling at that moment a strange statue under the grey light of dawn. He was torn whether he should tell the boy off for intruding in what was a moment of weakness… or feel relieved for helping him snap out of that dark spell of despair on time.

He went for the latter option.

"I'm fine," he said, gritting his teeth to sound as normal as possible; then turned to face the boy. "I'm sorry, did you want something?"

The moment that Beregond locked his gaze on him, however, Rick lowered his own. And Beregond was mildly curious to notice the boy's face was crimson red; whereas his shoulders were slumped forward.

_This is too familiar._

"Is it about the wallet?"

He got a slight nod for an answer and, at the next moment, Rick dug out of his pocket a small, leather wallet, with the initials "J.H." on it. He stretched his arm to offer the wallet, but he still didn't look the man in the eye; not even when Beregond took the wallet and said "Thank you."

Beregond sighed. "You don't have to be afraid of me," he said gently. "I apologise if I gave you reasons to be."

Only then did Rick finally look up. "No, it's not that! I just…" He suddenly looked around; then added in a small voice. "I just don't want my brother to see me with you. He doesn't like you."

"Oh?" Beregond asked. "Why is that?"

Rick blushed even more. "Because you're… that."

"_That?_" Beregond raised an eyebrow.

Rick actually stuttered. "You know… An alchemist."

Beregond smiled a bit sadly. "I see. Because of the war, right?" He sat down against the wall, and patted the place next to him in a beckoning motion to Rick.

"Yeah," the boy answered; eyeing the motion and clearly hesitating. But, eventually, he sat down as well, picking up a pebble in his hands and tossing it slightly in the air like some sort of game.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Beregond asked then, looking at the boy thoughtfully.

Rick shrugged and made a noncommittal click with his tongue. "I don't know. I mean, you bought medicines and helped Mr. Scar… so you can't be _all_ bad, I guess."

Beregond only half-smiled. "That's reassuring."

There was silence between man and boy for many long moments. Yet it wasn't as uncomfortable as Beregond would have expected, and something told him that it wasn't uncomfortable for Rick either.

"Were you there?"

Beregond didn't have to take a wild guess as to what Rick was actually referring.

"No," he replied with a shake of his head. "And after hearing so much about it, I'm glad I wasn't."

Rick was certainly surprised. "Really? But… you're a soldier, too." The curious look that Beregond gave him made him add: "I mean, you fight like one and alchemists are military – right?"

Beregond chuckled. "Not always. But you're partly right. I _am_ a soldier."

"So," Rick said, looking at the man in mild wonder, "you are a soldier and you don't like to fight?"

"I fight to safeguard those that need my protection, not to serve some selfish cause," Beregond explained. "Otherwise there's no honour in it."

Rick's expression saddened, and the boy looked down on the ground. "The soldiers that killed my parents weren't protecting anyone. They just killed them for no reason."

"I'm sorry."

Rick just shrugged. "You weren't there. You didn't kill them."

"I'm still sorry," Beregond said, taking in the sorrowful countenance of the boy next to him. "So your brother is your only family now?"

Rick nodded. "He's okay. He knows how to take care of me. Although sometimes I wish he could trust me a bit more."

Beregond made a small face as though thinking hard. "Hmm… like telling you not to talk to me?" A chuckle escaped his lips before he could help it and, surprisingly enough, Rick laughed a bit as well. "By the way… why would you want to talk to me?"

Rick flushed again and faltered before actually saying: "I'm… I'm not sure. I was just curious, I guess. You're not like the other soldiers."

Beregond looked at himself and smirked. "Well, I'm dirtier and I don't have a uniform…"

"No!" Rick answered with a small laugh, finally looking up. "You're… nicer. More polite. Calmer. Honest and straightforward… and…" The boy sighed in frustration. "I can't explain it really. Gramps said it best: your eyes and soul are clear."

Beregond thought about this for a moment. "That explains why you felt you _could_ talk to me; not why you _wanted_ to."

If Rick's face was red before, now it had assumed a crimson hue. He looked down, embarrassed, and mumbled: "Because you're different in other ways too. You… you speak a language I've never heard before and… that name the other soldier called you is weird… and… I want to know more about you." He turned his head slightly, but he didn't look at the man in the eye. "Is that okay with you?"

Beregond was actually amused by this. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I… I don't know…" Rick faltered, only to exclaim in sheer frustration immediately afterwards: "Damn it, you know how to make someone nervous!"

The Gondorian blinked at this; then stifled a smile, snorted… and started laughing hard.

"What?" Rick said, his tone indignant – yet he was smiling, sharing the humour. "_What?_" he said again, acting offended.

It took a lot of strength of will (and a few failed attempts), but Beregond finally managed to suppress his laughing fits and sobered once again.

"It's just… you're the second one who says that to me," he finally said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

Yet the truth was far darker than he cared to say.

_Because for a brief moment I thought you were him; that you didn't just have his face. _

And Beregond couldn't for the life of him decide whether he was laughing in joy that he managed to be with _him_ even like this…or in self-mockery at his attempts to delusion himself even now, even after all he had learned about his world and this one – even after his encounter with Riza and Dr. Thornlace.

"Who was the first?" Rick asked.

"My son."

Rick's eyes widened slightly at this. "You have a son?"

"Had," Beregond said quietly.

"Oh… sorry."

"That's okay."

There was again silence for a while.

"What about the other two?"

Beregond stared at Rick, not really understanding. "Who?"

"I heard you saying to your friend about two other boys that Scar might have known too. What are they to you? They can't be your sons if I understood things right."

Beregond finally caught on, mouthing a small "Oh" with his lips. "No, they're not. They're friends of mine. Good friends. They were the reason I came here, actually. I wanted to see them."

"Are they alchemists, too?"

The Gondorian nodded.

"How come Mr. Scar knows about them?" Rick asked then, bemused.

Beregond winced. He wasn't sure how much he ought to tell Rick about this. "It's kind of a long story. All I can tell you is that neither I nor the boys are at the best of terms with Scar."

Rick threw again his pebble in the air and caught it. "I thought it would be something like that. Did Mr. Scar hurt them? Is that why you're worried?"

Beregond looked at the boy incredulously, unable to believe that Rick was able to read through things so easily. On the one hand it was unnerving and on the other… reassuring. It meant Rick understood him and his actions a little bit better than others might have.

"He didn't hurt them – this time," Beregond said truthfully. "As a matter of fact, whether by accident or by intent, Scar might have saved their lives."

"But you're still worried," Rick said.

"I did say might."

"You talked like Leo just now," the boy commented, grinning broadly.

Beregond couldn't help it. He grinned too. "Did I now?" he asked, teasing slightly.

Rick nodded his agreement and leaned against the wall, resting his hands behind his head. "You must care for them a lot, too."

Beregond didn't reply. He just leaned his head against the wall as well, looking up at the sky.

His smile was enough as an answer.

øøøø

"I'm glad the matter has been settled," the old Ishbalan said. He was standing a few feet away from the Gondorian and the boy, watching them with a pleased expression on his face. "Your companion has a way with children that I have seen in very few people."

Havoc, who was standing beside the old man, nodded. "Yeah, he does. He knows how to make people trust him." He smiled. But that smile only lasted for a moment, before he shuffled his legs and placed his hands on his pockets, his countenance now slightly indignant. "That fugitive you've been protecting doesn't."

The old man put his arms through his sleeves to keep them warm, all the while smiling knowingly. "You don't understand why your friend took care of Scar."

Havoc kicked a pebble away and watched it as it skid the ground several times before disappearing amid the thickets that surrounded him and the Ishbalan. "I do… in part. That doesn't mean I have to like it. Or Scar will appreciate it."

The old man chuckled. "Scar can be many things that you don't approve, but he's not ungrateful. Whether you believe it or not, he has morals as well. He _will _return the favour, if only so as not to feel indebted to an enemy."

Havoc snorted. "He seems to forget his morals when he goes after a fifteen-year-old boy who just happens to be a State Alchemist."

The old man sighed. "I never denied Scar is blinded by hate and hurting people that don't deserve harm."

"You're still willing to protect him."

"He shares my blood and also the blood of the rest of the surviving Ishbalans. To betray him it would be like betraying myself."

"So you don't think he deserves punishment for committing murder?"

"There is someone far wiser and older than any of us. When the time comes, He will hand out his judgment upon His child."

Havoc caught himself shuddering; those words were too familiar.

"My friend told me something like that some time ago."

"Indeed?"

Havoc nodded. "He told me that his god looked upon people not merely as his creations, but as his children. He loved them, but he still punished them for their misdeeds."

"That's not very different from what we believe for our own god," the old man said with a small smile. "Where is your friend from?"

Havoc didn't answer at once. He looked at Beregond's direction again, and watched the Gondorian still talking with Rick – this time with some concern. After all, Beregond had told him of Rick's resemblance to Bergil and Havoc couldn't help but wonder how would that affect the man.

_I am fine, _Beregond had told him, when Havoc had asked him just that.

Jean hoped he was. He really did.

"A place he'll never see again," he finally said to the old Ishbalan's question, taking out his packet and lit one of his cigarettes. "It's ironic. Beregond's one of the kindest men I've met. And yet here he is, away from his home, because he tried to protect his son. Where's the justice in that?"

The old man turned at once, locking his gaze on Havoc. His eyes were widened, and he was looking the soldier in disbelief. "What did you call him?"

"That's his name," Havoc answered, raising an eyebrow in answer to the Ishbalan's reaction. "I know, it's strange, no last name and such but... I guess it wasn't that odd in his homeland," he added, shrugging.

"I see," the old man said thoughtfully. "Do you know the name of your friend's homeland? It's not Ishbal, is it?"

"What? Of course not!" Havoc exclaimed, surprised. "He… He's not from Amestris," he answered, trying to evade telling the truth the best he could.

It was then that another voice echoed; a child's voice.

"Hey, Gramps! Check this out!"

It was Rick, now rushing at the old Ishbalan and Havoc's direction. He was sporting a broad grin, and he was holding in his arms a sword - Beregond's sword. As for the Gondorian himself, he was following the boy closely behind, smiling also. But Havoc could see that it was a regretful smile. Not that Beregond regretted giving Rick the sword; Jean was sure of that.

It was regret because… the sword suited the boy. Like it might have suited Beregond's son.

"Pretty neat, yes?" Rick said to the elder Ishbalan. It was amazing to see that he had come to appreciate a weapon he had dreaded only a few hours ago. "Just like those stories you've been telling us!"

Havoc and Beregond exchanged glances at this.

_They too…?_ Havoc thought. And it seemed that his thought was reflected in his expression, because Beregond nodded discreetly.

"Careful with that, Rick," the old man warned gently. "Those things can be very heavy."

But Rick shook his head emphatically. "This one's as light as a feather! Even you can hold it!" And with that, Rick handed the sword to the old man, who took it with a small smile. He seemed to have been satisfied by simply testing its feel on his hands and was ready to return it to its rightful owner, when something made him stop in his tracks… and drop the sword.

"Gramps?"

"Sir?" Havoc asked, just as surprised.

But the old man didn't answer them. He turned to Beregond, who, though at first was just as taken aback at the reaction, he was now looking at the old Ishbalan apprehensively. He didn't move when the old man approached him, nor when the Ishbalan started scrutinising him from head to toe. Nor did he move when the Ishbalan placed both his hands on each of Beregond' shoulders, looking at him straight in his eyes.

"What…?" the Gondorian started.

"I'll ask only one question. Don't lie to me or I _will_ know," the old man said, his gaze never wavering. "Tell me where your home is."

Beregond didn't answer.

"Tell me!" the old man repeated.

There was again no answer. Havoc was about to interfere and stop this; but then, Beregond spoke, his voice soft yet still able to cut through the air like a knife.

"Beyond your reach or mine. That's what the One decreed."

Enigmatic though the answer it seemed, the old man seemed to understand, because he nodded knowingly.

"So the old tales were true." At the next moment, he had released Beregond and picked up the sword. His eyes were still locked on the man as he finally gave it back to the Gondorian.

"Welcome, Brother."

Beregond could only bow his head at that; whereas Havoc and Rick just stared incredulously.

_TBC..._


	26. Building Storm

"Colonel," a couple of soldiers said, saluting the woman that was currently passing by them.

"At ease, gentlemen," was all that Juliet Douglas said, and she continued on her way. She didn't pay attention to their murmurs as they commented: 'She's here early today', since it wasn't her main concern for now.

Her main concern was waiting in the Führer's office.

She quickly reached the office and looked to her left and right, making sure no one watched her as she entered. As soon as the door was closed and locked, she concentrated and changed her form. In place of a brown-haired, green eyed woman, there was in her stead a darkly-clothed woman with an inhumanely pale face, violet eyes reflecting nothing but cold calculation; and the sign of the Ouroboros quite visible on her chest.

"Care to explain what happened?" she asked, turning to the darkest corner of the room. Though it seemed like no one was there, she knew better.

"The Fullmetal boy somehow managed to get a hold of Marcoh's notes," Lust answered, stepping out. "They gave him the answers he needed to find out about the laboratory's existence."

"The notes were supposed to be destroyed," 'Douglas' said, her voice carrying an acidic tone that was downright frightening.

"They were," Lust said calmly. "It still didn't stop him."

'Douglas' didn't reply this time. She crossed her arms, contemplating matters carefully.

"That wasn't in our plans," she finally said. "We'll have to make it work to our advantage. And we need to talk to Dante about Greed's escape."

"Do you think he will go after her?"

'Douglas' smirked. "Hardly. She always said he wanted nothing to do with us. That his aspirations always differed from ours and that he'll stay true to that. However, if he does interfere in our plans in any way… you know what to do."

Lust nodded her understanding, a cruel smile forming on her lips. "And what about the Ishbalan?"

"Let the military deal with that. They're always useful for tracking down scapegoats," the other homunculus said, chuckling slightly. "Which reminds me: have you contacted our… employees?"

"Of course," Lust answered. "They'll start their work soon enough."

"Good. Stay close and observe matters. Well-paid or not, we don't want them messing anything. And tell the same to Envy, too."

"I will." Lust was ready to turn and leave, but she stopped in her tracks midway as she remembered something. "And you, Sloth? Have you done what Dante asked of you?"

Sloth smiled. "Did you doubt that? Syndow is already on a train to Dublith. Although I have to say that that man puzzled me. He seemed to know what we wanted from him."

Lust chuckled. "Saves us the trouble of explaining things to him – or that he has no choice but to do what he's told."

And with that she was gone. She never saw Sloth's thoughtful expression on her face, while considering what her best next course of action would be.

The only thing she could come up with was make a phone call. She picked up the receiver and dialed a triple number.

"Yes? Colonel Douglas here. I want you to find the telephone number of a certain John Ronald Syndow – he lives in East City. Yes, I will hold."

* * *

"Let me get this straight," Havoc said then, looking at each of the elder representatives of the Ishbalan camp who had surrounded him and Beregond. They were all sitting in the largest tent within the camp, the one that the Ishbalans used as a place of pray and council. No one seemed to notice the large group of people that had gathered around the tent and were trying to eavesdrop on what was being said, regardless of the noon sun high above. "You guys _knew_ about the existence of another world – Beregond's world?"

"Of course we did," a strongly-built Ishbalan said. "The tale of the Downfall has been handed down from father to son and mother to daughter for generations untold. It was what made us turn against the ways of Alchemy in the first place."

Beregond frowned slightly. "I see. You had embraced it too, at first. But after seeing that Alchemy was the source of your punishment, you banished it from your lives. You hoped that this was a way you could atone in the One's eyes."

Havoc smiled grimly at this as he lit another cigarette. "Kinda late for that, don't you think?"

That earned him a warning glare from Beregond's direction. He'd prefer to continue this conversation without arguments!

"A lesson that is learnt belatedly is a lesson nevertheless," another elder Ishbalan said. "We're not willing to make the same mistake twice. It is the only thing we can do as we await for our redemption."

"Wait," Beregond said. "You believe that one day you will be returned to Arda?"

The eldest Ishbalan, 'Gramps' as Rick always called him affectionately, laughed and shook his head. "No. But we believe that one day the two worlds will come in contact and so the one will know of the other's existence. It has already begun."

At that, everyone locked their gazes on Beregond – including Havoc.

Beregond felt his eyes widening as he stared back at them like they had all gone mad.

"What are you saying?" he asked slowly; because the old man couldn't be saying what Beregond suspected…

"Isn't it obvious?" the old man answered. "By arriving here, you made your world known. The first step has been taken."

Beregond immediately shook his head.

"Hold it!" he exclaimed at once, raising his hands in a gesture that this suspicious train of logic should stop at once. "If there's to be proper contact, it means that this world has to become known on the other side, too. I can't go back there."

"Who said it has to be you?" the burly Ishbalan replied, raising an eyebrow, a half-smile of amusement on his features.

At that moment, Beregond felt as though everything had come to a standstill around him and his blood was getting drained from his cheeks.

_Another one?_

_Another one will be sent… to my world?_

"Who? When?" he managed to say. "And how do we know he hasn't been sent yet?"

The old man shrugged. "Only One knows these things."

Beregond nodded absentmindedly; his mind almost reeled as one thought after another piled up, making his head hurt. "Yes… of course…"

"It is of no matter for the present. What matters now is that _you_ are here, Beregond," the second elderly Ishbalan said. "Why don't you stay for a while? Learn a bit of our ways and teach us a bit of your own. We would be honoured."

Now that was a request that Beregond didn't expect. The Gondorian looked at the Ishbalans in a confused manner.

_Stay?! Now?!_

"I'm sorry. I can't."

"Is there a problem?" the old man asked.

"Two children could be missing or dead. Two boys I've been looking for," Beregond replied without hesitation. "I need to find out what has happened to them."

"And there's the military to be considered too," Havoc added, nodding his agreement. "We were expected last night. Once the 24-hour limit is past, we will be considered missing – or worse, deserters."

The elderly Ishbalans considered this for a few moments; then the eldest turned to Beregond again. "We understand. But, please, Beregond… will you come to find us when you're free from other obligations?"

"Of course," Beregond said earnestly.

"Good. I'll ask Rick and Leo to keep you company. They know Central like the back of their hands."

"Thank you." Beregond bowed his head in respect. "Navaer." (Goodbye).

The old man smiled, and even bowed his head in answer. "Ishbala ahuk." (Ishbala be with you)

* * *

Sloth smiled when the information bureau told her the phone number she had asked for. Thanking the operator for the help, she quickly jotted down the number; then started dialing it. She didn't have to wait long before a young man's voice echoed from the other end of the line: "Hello, you've reached Syndow's residence."

"Hello, awfully sorry to disturb you at this time of day, but I wanted to speak to Professor Syndow," Sloth answered, sounding as friendly as possible.

"I'm afraid he's not here. Would you like to leave a message, Miss…?"

"I'd rather give it to him in person. Do you have any idea when he is to return?"

"I'm sorry, no. He's been attending to some military business in Central and it will probably take him several days to return."

"Oh, I see," Sloth said then, finally making her move. "Does this have to do with Sergeant Beregond?"

"You know about that then?" the young man said.

"We've been working closely together with him," Sloth lied smoothly.

"I see," Christopher said, thoughtfully. "No, it doesn't have to do with him; but if you do see Sergeant Beregond, please tell him that my father wishes to speak with him when he's to return from Central."

"What about?" Sloth said, raising an eyebrow.

"It has to do with the talks they've been having only recently. Sergeant Beregond will understand."

Sloth grinned as she understood that she got what she wanted.

"Then I will tell him. Thank you for your time."

"Wait, you haven't…"

But Sloth had already hung up, thinking that this was becoming more and more interesting; and that she would have to send a telegraph to Dante as soon as possible.

* * *

Leo kicked an invisible stone in frustration. He cast a brief glance at the Gondorian and the Amestrian as they stood by a phone booth making their phone-call, a growl of dismay almost escaping his throat. He faced his brother, who was sitting excitedly on a small bench nearby.

"What are we doing here?" he asked.

"Gramps asked us to accompany Beregond and his friend, remember?" Rick answered.

Leo snorted. "Like I said: _What_ are we doing here? Why are we supposed to be helping an alchemist and a soldier?"

"Because they didn't give us a reason not to," Rick replied.

"Don't tell me you've actually started to like them!" Leo exclaimed.

"They treated me all right when others would have broken my arm for stealing their stuff!"

"That doesn't make them holy men! Beregond is nothing but a distorter of nature and his friend a member of murderers; the murderers of our people; the murderers of _mom and dad_, Rick! Or have you forgotten that?"

"If they're that, then how is Scar different from them?" Rick retorted heatedly. "I overheard them, Leo. That tattoo in Scar's arm has to do with alchemy. And Scar has murdered, too! He almost killed two kids that were our age!"

"Because of what was done to us!" Leo hissed. "_They_ started it."

"Then maybe someone has to stop it. And I hate to disappoint you, Brother, but it was the _alchemist_ who realised that first; not us!"

If Leo had ever intended to reply, he never got the chance. At that moment, Beregond stepped out of the phone-booth and told Havoc: "I didn't find him. He wasn't there."

Havoc's eyes widened. "What about Sarah?"

"No."

Havoc thought about it for a moment. "What about Hughes' home? The Colonel must have the number."

"He can't be home that early – it's almost 2 o'clock."

"Maybe he has the day off," Havoc suggested.

"No, I remember Maes saying specifically he had too much work to do and he could hardly afford any."

"So maybe he's gone out."

"Maybe…" Beregond echoed thoughtfully. "The question now is… why?"

Havoc blinked; then shook his head, for he understood what Beregond was implying.

"Beregond, we don't know what happened to them, remember? You can't just think the worst case scenario."

"But I can't exclude it either," Beregond said. He rubbed his forehead as he tried to contemplate matters, until he finally said: "I need to see that place for myself."

"You mean Lab 5?" Havoc said, eyes widening incredulously. "What are you hoping to find?"

"Anything that can give me some clue as to what might have happened after the explosion."

"Beregond, it's been more than 48 hours--"

"I never said the trail won't be cold!" Beregond exclaimed edgily. But then, realising his mistake, his tone softened and looked at Havoc apologetically. "However, you outrank me. Whatever your call will be, I'll follow it."

Havoc didn't answer at once; it was clear he was hesitating by the way he was chewing his cigarette. Beregond, on the other hand, had bowed his head slightly, keeping his eyes closed as he was expecting an answer that he didn't want to hear.

And finally…

"Well, we're not on duty. And two: the 24-hour limit hasn't passed yet."

Beregond opened his eyes to stare at his companion surprised – and grateful. Havoc smiled and winked at the Gondorian; then turned to Leo and Rick.

"Is Lab 5 far from here?"

Leo didn't answer, but Rick said: "About twenty-five minutes on foot."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

* * *

"Oh, man…What a mess," Havoc commented grimly. Taking another careful step on the huge pile of debris that used to be Lab 5, he cast a brief glance around. There was nothing in sight. Just the two Ishbalan kids, who were now a few feet away from him, and Beregond, who was already searching amid the rubble. "How are you supposed to find anything here?" he asked at the Gondorian's direction.

"With a lot of patience," Beregond answered. He lifted another large piece of debris and pushed it further away.

Havoc rolled his eyes at this. "Can't you just go for the old clap thing and zap the obstacles out of our way?" he asked.

"No," Beregond answered.

"Why not?!" Havoc exclaimed incredulously.

"Because…" Beregond paused as he heaved and moved an iron beam a few inches to look underneath it. "…I might also transmute by accident any evidence that can be found." However, finally deciding that some alchemy _was_ necessary, he transmuted out of the iron beam a couple of buckets and shovels and gave one of each to Havoc. "Use these to remove the small rubble," he added, and resumed his work.

"If there _is_ any evidence," Havoc said grimly, filling the bucket. He called Rick and gave him the bucket so that the boy could empty the contents as far away as possible, something to which Rick complied at once - in spite of Leo's clear disapproval.

"That's why we're looking," Beregond pointed out calmly, already digging.

He stopped when he noticed the colour of the sand he dug up.

It was red.

_Red water._ Beregond instantly threw the contents away, as though he had touched something vile. _At least we're digging up the right hall._

It was then that Havoc's voice calling him made him turn. "What is it?" he called back.

"You'd better come and look at this!" Havoc said, looking at what it resembled a small hole. Rick was carrying another bucket full of dirt away; but Leo, on the other hand, stood where he was, watching everything from a distance.

Dusting his trousers, Beregond walked up to the Havoc.

"What?"

Havoc pointed down at the floor that was revealed underneath the rubble.

"Doesn't this array look a bit like Scar's tattoo?"

Beregond looked down; then huffed dismayed. "It doesn't just look like it," he said. "They're the same array."

Havoc stared at Beregond, mouth agape. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Beregond answered, sitting on his heels and removed some dirt to reveal more of the array. "It's an array for creating a Philosopher's Stone."

"What?! How can you tell?"

Beregond didn't answer at once, clearly hesitating. "I've told you about Dûrinas, right?"

"Yeah," Havoc answered, not really sure where Beregond was going with this. "He wanted to create a Philosopher's Stone, and that's why he started killing people."

"And I also told you that he used for that purpose an array that I couldn't recall."

"You did, but…" Havoc froze as realisation dawned on him. "That's the same array, isn't it? You remembered it while hypnotised!"

Beregond nodded.

"But that's also the way Scar's been killing people…" Havoc didn't continue, the thought clearly sickening him. "Do you think he knows about this? Because if he does, there could be big trouble."

The only answer Havoc got was silence.

"Beregond--?"

"We had better carry on with our work."

Now that must have sounded a little off to Havoc, but he never got the chance to comment at it. At that moment, Rick returned and called at the two men.

"There are some soldiers coming this way!"

Beregond and Havoc exchanged a glance. "Did they come to clean up?"

"Or cover it up, if what you say is true," Havoc said. "We'd better not be noticed."

"Agreed," Beregond said with a nod. He beckoned the boys to follow him, while Havoc found a dark alley where they could hide. Soon enough, the soldiers had appeared and, under the command of someone who appeared to be a lieutenant, started examining the place with great interest.

"That's weird," Havoc noted. He was now glued against the wall, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible while he looked around the corner.

"What is?" Beregond asked in a low whisper. Though he was beside Havoc, he didn't have the luxury to get a glimpse of what was going on.

"Those aren't our own guys," Havoc answered. "They're dressed in Amestrian military uniform, but the insignia is all wrong. Not to mention there's someone in a suit of armour with them."

Beregond stiffened. "Is he missing an arm and carrying a butcher knife?"

"Yeah… how did you know?"

"He was a guard at Lab 5," Beregond explained. "According to Scar, he was the one who fought Alphonse. And, for the record, it's just his soul in there."

"This is getting better and better," Havoc said wryly.

"Tell me about it."

"Do you think they might know about Ed and Al?" Havoc asked.

Beregond considered matters carefully. "I'm not sure. They're certainly here for a reason though." He faced Rick, who was standing next to him and paying attention to everything the two men said. "Did they see you?"

"I think a couple of them did," the boy answered. "But I ran off pretty quickly."

"What does _that_ have to do with anything?" Leo asked, frowning.

"If they're aware there's someone within the area, they might wanna make sure that that someone doesn't see anything they shouldn't," Havoc replied.

"Which means we should leave," Beregond seconded.

"We don't have to," Havoc said then, once again looking around the corner. "They're gone."

Truly enough, there were no more soldiers to be seen. The place had grown quiet once again.

"That seems too convenient for some reason," Beregond mused. "It could be a trap."

Havoc nodded his agreement. "We'd better leave from a different route."

"Wait a second!" Rick said then. Before Beregond had the chance to stop him, the boy had hurried down the alley and dared a peek around the other corner. "Okay, it's clear!"

The words had barely escaped Rick's lips, when suddenly two men jumped from the roof and landed right next to the boy so as to grab him.

"Rick!"

But Leo didn't have the chance to run to his brother's aid, because at that moment a third mercenary opened fire. The bullets would have certainly met their target if it weren't for Beregond clapping in the nick of time and transmute a wall to protect Leo. As for Havoc, he had already ducked, taking his gun out from its holster and fired too.

Havoc _didn't_ miss.

That, however, hardly deterred the kidnappers. Clearly thinking that the alchemist was the most vulnerable target, one of them lunged against Beregond and got ready to land a fist on the Gondorian's face. Little did he know that Beregond would not only avoid the attack, but even manage a forceful kick on the attacker's back and throw him to the ground.

"Let him go!" the Gondorian shouted at the ones that held Rick, unsheathing his sword and rushing ahead.

One of the kidnappers simply threw a gas bomb right before Beregond's feet, covering everything in smoke as it went off. Snarling, Beregond jumped high enough to escape that misty trap, but it was already too late. By the time he landed on the ground, the mercenaries – and Rick – were gone. It wasn't that that made the Gondorian stop on his tracks and stop the pursuit, though.

It was the sound of coughing.

_Havoc!_

Beregond acted at once. He slashed his sword through the air to disperse the amount of gas that was closer to him; then rushed in the poisonous mist to help Havoc and Leo, hoping that he would be quick enough.

To his surprise, however, the current Beregond created as his sword cut through the air was far stronger than it should have been. In fact, it resembled a gust of wind that had blown the gas into nothing in a matter of moments.

Beregond could only stare at his hands and his sword as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. He had the answer at the tip of his tongue, he knew he did…

But that had to wait, he decided. He was needed. And with that, he rushed at Havoc's side, trying to shake him out of his unconsciousness. Leo was slightly better off, apparently, because he had already stood up and was ready to run off.

"Where do you think you're going?!" Beregond exclaimed, using all his strength to pull Havoc on his feet and offer his own body frame as support.

"They have my brother!"

"And _we_ have _him_," Beregond said, motioning his head to the direction of the unconscious mercenary. "Go to the camp and ask some strong men to help us."

"But Rick--"

"Rick trusted me, so you'd better start doing the same!" Beregond snapped.

Leo didn't say anything this time. After a few moments of hesitation, he merely nodded and started running towards the camp, while Beregond encouraged Havoc to breathe.

-------------------

Edward was bored. Not just mildly weary or uninterested, but mind-numbingly, staring-at-the-ceiling-because-there-is-nothing-else-to-do bored. Alphonse was at the terrace; Ross and Bloch were on duty just outside his door; his body was all bent up and aching after staying in bed for what it felt like forever; and there was absolutely nothing to distract him – not even so much as a book. Sure, he could try and get some sleep if only so that time would actually pass, but he had already dozed off so many times that by now his eyes remained stubbornly open on their own accord.

That was it. Ed would have to get up _now_, or his brain would turn to a gooey pulp out of sheer inactivity. Ross and Bloch could protest and scream: "Your wound will reopen!" all they wanted.

And with that thought in mind and bracing himself for any kind of discomfort, Edward got up. To his pleasant surprise and relief, Ed found out that the pain was more than just easily handled, so he became bolder in his movements and his gait more relaxed as he walked towards the door and opened it. He was ready to tell Ross and Bloch that he was taking a walk, when something odd caught his eye.

Both Ross and Bloch were frowning. _Were_ being the keyword here, since they instantly assumed a calmer expression when he came out. And not only they didn't say anything when he announced his intentions, but Bloch insisted that he should come with him.

"All right," Ed said, slightly blinking; then walked on, followed closely behind by the sergeant. He went upstairs so that he could talk to Alphonse. But, as he quickly discovered, Al wasn't in that much of a mood for a conversation, no matter how hard Ed tried to make him open up to him. So, feeling a bit disappointed, he went down again and sat on a small chair nearby to rest his body (better or not, he still couldn't from consider himself healthy). That's where he settled for several minutes, kicking his legs in the air and looking down on the floor in a bored manner.

_What to do… What to do…_

It was a good thing that Armstrong said that he'd bring Beregond here. That would make things around here interesting.

_Wait a minute…Shouldn't they have been here by now?_

Eyes widening slightly, Ed fumbled himself momentarily only to realise that he was in pyjamas and so he had no watch.

"What time is it?" he asked Bloch.

Bloch looked at his own watch. "Two thirty."

"Oh." And with that Ed grew silent again. Until Bloch's answer really sank in.

"What?!" he cried out, dumbfounded. Such was his surprise that he immediately stood up from his seat. "That can't be right!"

"Why not?" Bloch asked, surprised.

"Armstrong said that he'd bring Beregond here two hours ago!"

But the thing that made Ed realise that something really didn't add up was when Bloch bit his lower lip. "Err… I don't know... Maybe Sergeant Beregond got distracted on his way here. It's Central after all! Lots of things to see…"

"Really?" Ed said, not believing a single word. "You're right though. You _don't_ know that the moment Armstrong would tell Beregond about Al and I being hospitalised, Beregond would have come here _running_."

"Well, maybe Major Armstrong got distracted and he couldn't escort him…"

"You don't get it. Beregond would have come running _on his own._" Though he was speaking very softly and slowly, Ed felt like he was ready to breathe fire out of his mouth. He took one threatening step forward, something that made Bloch flinch. "You lectured me about having more faith in adults, so give me a good reason for it. How about explaining _what's going on?_" He emphasized the last three words one by one, his eyes shining brilliantly with determination and oncoming wrath. The fact that he was injured and his metal arm wasn't functioning didn't make the young alchemist less intimidating in the least.

"I can't… I was ordered to…" Bloch instantly covered his mouth, but it was too late.

"Then _I'm_ ordering you, Sergeant," Ed said, his voice low and guttural and signifying: _One wrong answer and you're dead._

"I…"

"SPEAK!"

That finally broke Bloch down and he confessed: "Sergeant Beregond never reached the dorms!"

Ed's feelings of anger and indignation vanished to be replaced by horror and shock. "What?" he breathed out. "But… but you said…"

Bloch bowed his head in regret. "Wrong assumptions. Major Armstrong called half an hour ago. He said that Sergeant Beregond was last seen at the train station – something made him run off, and nobody knows what."

"But 2nd Lieutenant Havoc was with him! What did he say?" Ed asked anxiously.

"Lieutenant Havoc's gone missing too."

Ed felt his heart missing a beat. This couldn't be true; this wasn't happening! What had made Beregond act like that? And why was Havoc gone too?

"This doesn't make any sense," Ed finally said, murmuring to himself. "Beregond would never run off just like that! Unless…"

_Unless he saw something. But what?_

"I need to get out of here," Ed declared. He turned on his heel and hurried to his room, passing by a very bewildered Lieutenant Ross; then started searching frantically for his clothes.

"What are you doing?" Ross asked, her eyes widening as she looked inside.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm gonna look for him!" Ed snapped. He removed with his functioning arm his pyjama shirt and donned the familiar black one that was on a chair nearby. That is, he attempted to, since his metal arm wouldn't cooperate. Such was Ed's frustration that he started becoming too careless in his movements – until he pulled one muscle too many. He instantly doubled over, gritting his teeth at the pain that coursed through him.

"Damn it!"

"Edward!" Ross was at his side at once, guiding him to the bed and making him sit down. "You can't go anywhere for the present. Not when your body is in that shape."

"He's out there!"

"So are Major Armstrong and a search team! If anyone's able to find him, it will be them!" Ross retorted, grabbing Ed from his shoulders. "Please. We can't afford to be concerned about you too."

"But--!"

"I mean it, Ed. You're to stay here. Do you think Beregond would want you to leave Alphonse behind?"

"Al isn't in any danger here!"

"No. But _you_ will."

Ed opened his mouth to scream out that he wasn't some dumb kid to be pampered… but only sighed instead. Ross was right. He wouldn't know just from where to start looking and he was still in a pretty bad condition for any long ventures outside.

If only he had his arm functioning… Or Alphonse's body of armour was complete…

Damn it.

_You'd better be okay, Beregond, or I'll kill you myself once I'm fixed!_

"Fine, I'll wait here," he finally said, defeated. "But you'll keep me informed on any progress, okay?"

"Of course," Ross said with reassurance, smiling encouragingly.

And so Ed was left with nothing else to do except wait – and worry.

TBC…


	27. Pawns

Havoc felt like hell. His head hurt and his breathing was so strained it wasn't even funny. He coughed to rid himself of that chocking feeling that had settled on his throat, but it almost seemed like it was of no use.

"Inhale this. It will make you feel better," said the old Ishbalan, offering a cup with some sort of steaming tea in it.

Nodding his thanks, Havoc took the mug and inhaled some of the vapours. The smell was foul, but Havoc had to admit that his breathing had become easier. He looked at his surroundings, still able to make out the tents and borders of the Ishbalan camp even under the swiftly fading twilight.

But…

"Where's Beregond?"

The old Ishbalan pointed at a large tent several feet away. "He's questioning the man you caught in the hopes he'll learn of Rick's whereabouts."

"Somehow I don't think the guy will say anything," Havoc said grimly. But it was then that Havoc noticed Leo hurrying toward the same large tent – followed closely behind by a large, limping form.

Scar.

Havoc watched as both Ishbalans walked inside the tent, unsure what to make of it. At the next moment, bright red light shone within the tent.

Havoc stared in shock. _Did Beregond just allow…?_

But his thought was cut off when Beregond appeared, dragging a whimpering man in a military uniform and handing him over to two more Ishbalans nearby. Seconds later, the Gondorian had transmuted a cage from the ground, its bars already surrounding the captive.

"Make sure he gets comfortable," was all that Beregond said to the Ishbalans before turning on his heel and heading in Havoc's direction.

As he watched the Gondorian approaching, Havoc couldn't help but notice that there was something off. For Beregond's gait was listless. It wasn't very discernible, true; but it was disconcerting to someone who had become familiar with the Gondorian's steady, confident steps.

"You okay?" Beregond asked.

Whether the Gondorian was aware of Havoc's persistent stare at him or not when asking that question, Havoc wasn't sure; he was too busy looking at Beregond's paled face. And the lieutenant winced inwardly when he saw how violently the white skin contrasted with the black circles underneath Beregond's eyes.

_So it is happening…_

But Havoc knew that it wasn't the time to talk about such things; so he decided to let the matter be – for now.

"I'll live," he answered with a slight shrug. He nodded at the caged man's direction. "Well… I guess he talked?"

Beregond nodded wryly. "Scar is pretty persuasive."

Havoc could see that Beregond didn't exactly approve of Scar's method.

"Where do they have him?" the old Ishbalan asked.

"In a makeshift hideout, at the other end of the city," Beregond answered.

"Then what are we waiting for?" a young man said at that moment, overhearing the conversation. "Let's get them!"

"That's out of the question!" Beregond said at once.

"Beregond is right!" the old Ishbalan said. "These people are trained soldiers; we have no chance of fighting them."

"We outnumber them!"

"I know you do," Beregond replied. "And perhaps you would be able to win but for something else."

"What are you talking about?" asked an Ishbalan woman. "What else is there?"

"How about: why did they kidnap Rick in the first place?"

It was Havoc who said that, now standing up and taking his place beside Beregond. "That's what troubles you, right?" he asked the Gondorian.

"Yes," Beregond said. "Ransom hardly cuts it, since the Ishbalans have no money. A blind attack against those who have Ishbalan blood in their veins seems a more logical explanation but why kidnap when they could easily kill? And, lastly, why just Rick and not Leo, too?"

"You already had time to protect Leo," another Ishbalan reasoned.

"Maybe. But we're dealing with trained men; men that managed to surprise us. If they wanted to get Leo as well, they would have. It seems more logical to me to say that Leo wasn't meant to be kidnapped at all. In fact, it looks to me as though Leo was meant to escape so he could warn you."

"That doesn't make any sense! Why would anyone want to do that?" a middle-aged Ishbalan asked.

Beregond didn't answer at once. But when he did, his voice sounded almost cold.

"I think someone _wants_ you to retaliate. They're challenging you to make trouble in the hopes of causing a riot."

"And it could be an attempt to make Scar come out," Havoc seconded thoughtfully.

"That seems just as probable," Beregond agreed. "Still, both reasons point at the same direction: you," and with that, he pointed at the surrounding Ishbalans, "can't be involved in this."

"So what are we supposed to do?!" Leo exclaimed. "Leave my brother in their hands?"

"I never said that," Beregond said.

"No… it's clear what you're saying."

Everyone turned to see that Scar was now amongst them, his arms across his chest and looking at Beregond with narrowed eyes.

"This is not your fight, Man of Stone. If it is me they want, it is me they'll get."

Beregond never got the chance to answer, because Havoc proved faster.

"Whether you like it or not, it hasn't only become his fight, but mine as well. If what Beregond says is true and there's someone out there who wants to move both the Ishbalans and the Amestrian soldiers like pawns, I don't want to give them that satisfaction."

"I'd rather be dead than ask the help of an Amestrian!"

"We don't need a murderer's help anyway!"

"Enough!"

Beregond now stood between Havoc and Scar, arms outstretched to make sure neither lunged on the other. And both men could tell that the Gondorian was angry.

"You were ready to protect that boy when you could barely stand, Scar. Now you want to back out for such an inane reason as _place of birth?_" He turned at Havoc's direction. "He's a murderer, yes. But if he's willing to save a life this time, it's not in my place to stop him. Is it in yours, Havoc?" He straightened himself a bit and then lowered his arms, just slightly, still prepared for anything. "I don't know about you two, but I won't stay one minute here longer when a life, a _child's_ life, is in danger."

Time seemed to stand still when Beregond spoke those words. Scar and Havoc had grown quiet, clearly contemplating matters and try to decide what the best course of action should be.

Finally, Scar spoke.

"We'll still be enemies tomorrow."

"We're enemies even now. But even enemies can show respect," Beregond answered, and then turned to Havoc. "We'd better get our weapons."

Havoc nodded and, after casting a cold look at Scar's direction, he followed the Gondorian. It was only after both soldiers were out of any Ishbalan's hearing range that Beregond spoke again.

"I'm sorry."

Havoc stared at Beregond, eyes widened. "Whatever for?"

"For snapping like that. I forgot my place, and I'll accept any punishment once we're through this."

"No," Havoc said then, understanding what was in the Gondorian's mind. "I told you, we're not in a military uniform, so ranks don't apply. And, let's face it, you've even been a Brigadier General in your world; you know this commanding business better than I do. However…" and at that Havoc clasped a hand on Beregond's shoulder, thus effectively stopping the man in his tracks, "I also know when a man is about to reach the limit of his strengths."

"What do you mean?" Yet it was clear that Beregond understood perfectly well. He had averted his eyes, a crimson hue of frustration finally colouring his wan cheeks.

Havoc sighed. It looked like Beregond wasn't going to make things easy for him.

"I mean that I'm worried. Are you sure you're up to this fight?"

Beregond snorted. "I'm not the one who took a few breaths of poison gas."

"That's not what I'm saying and you know it!" Havoc exclaimed. He stood in front of Beregond and grabbed both the Gondorian's shoulders, forcing him to look at him. "You haven't eaten or slept since we left East City; you constantly worry about Ed and Al--"

Beregond looked away, his voice barely a murmur. "Havoc…"

"Somewhere inside you you're grieving for your family, for your friends--"

"It's been ten months--"

"But only now you're absolutely sure that they've gone out of your life."

"So what of it?" Beregond answered, tensing so much that Havoc thought he was grabbing rock, not muscle. "Grief and worry don't serve anyone right now."

"Beregond…" Havoc said quietly, hoping that he would make his friend see reason, "Gondorian or not, Elven blood in your system or not, you're still human and those feelings are part of you. And if you keep them suppressed long enough, they're gonna fester you; even _I_ can understand that."

"I'm fine, Havoc."

"But for how long?" Havoc asked again, exasperatingly.

"For as long as I have to be," Beregond answered with a shrug, his voice quiet and his face expressionless. And with that, he gently pulled himself away from Havoc's grip and walked away, not bothering to wait for an answer.

And so, all that the lieutenant could do was watch Beregond go, only one thought crossing his mind.

_Beregond… you're already breaking._

* * *

"Will this be all, Lieutenant Hawkeye?" asked Roy. He had just finished signing what he hoped to be the last piece of paperwork on his desk, so that he could call it a night.

"Yes, Sir," Riza answered with a nod.

"Good. You may leave then," Roy replied, "I'll lock the door to the office on my way out. There's a phone call I have to make."

"Very well, Sir." And with that, Riza saluted and walked out, holding in her hands the papers in order to put them on her own office before leaving. As for Roy, he had already picked up the receiver and started dialling the number to Central Headquarters. A couple of minutes later, a woman's voice answered the phone. "Private Jamie Kinkard, reporting from the dorms, Sir!"

Roy smiled. "It's nice to hear such a pleasant voice on the phone," he said smoothly. "It's usually Private Sommers I converse with on the phone."

"Private Sommers hasn't reported for duty yet, Sir," Jamie said in quite the business-like tone. "Do you want to leave a message to him?"

"No, that won't be necessary, I think you can help me just fine, Private Kinkard," Roy said. "I wish to speak with Lieutenant Havoc. Is he in the dorms?"

There was silence for several moments. "May I speak freely, Sir?"

Roy frowned at this. Still, he decided to indulge the private. "Yes."

"Sir, you've been the third person who's been asking the particular lieutenant or his companion, and I'm afraid I have to say to you, as I've already told the others, that there are no such soldiers by the names Havoc or Beregond within Central dorms."

Roy tensed at once. "They should be. I sent them there personally."

"You did, Sir. _They_ didn't arrive."

_They didn't?!_

Yet it wasn't only _that_ that made Roy sit up and grip the receiver even more tightly. "Who were the other two who asked for them?"

"The first one was Major Armstrong. The second one was Lieutenant Colonel Fawcette." There was a small pause. "Sir, are they in some kind of trouble? Lieutenant Colonel Fawcette said that he had orders to arrest Sergeant Beregond."

Now Roy knew, beyond any doubt, that things were very wrong.

"I'm afraid I can't answer you that, Private. Thank you, anyway." And without even waiting for a reply from the private, he instantly hung up in order to dial another number.

But, even though he let the phone ring more than enough times, Hughes never answered.

_Damn in, Hughes! Roy thought, slamming the receiver down in frustration. You've picked a hell of a time to be gone from the office!_

What the hell was going on?

Seeing that he was on the verge of losing his control, Roy decided to take a few deep breaths and try to consider matters with a clear head.

For whatever reason, Havoc and Beregond never made it to Central Headquarters. And, for the present, neither Armstrong nor Fawcette were able to find them. That meant one thing. Armstrong had to be the first to find the missing soldiers. It was the only way to ensure that Fawcette didn't lay a finger on them before Roy found out the meaning of it all.

With that last thought, Roy picked up the receiver and started dialling again. As the phone started buzzing, the man realised that this night would be a very long one.

_Hughes, if I get my hands on you…_

"Hello? May I help you?"

"Patch me through Major Armstrong's office."

* * *

"Happy birthday Elysia!"

That was what everyone shouted when Elysia blew out the candles on her own, amid much clapping and cheering. Indeed, there were lots of people – from relatives from both Maes and Gracia's side to several co-workers. And now everyone was enjoying a drink or sharing a joke or two with others; whereas the children were checking out all the gifts and toys, letting out exclamations of wonder and excitement.

That is, until little Elysia let out a small moan of disappointment. She rushed to her father, holding a small toy-mouse in her chubby little hands.

"Daddy! The mouse I got from daddy isn't moving!"

"Oh?" Maes said, embarrassed. "I guess it was defective."

Winry, who was standing close by, heard that. She smiled, since she knew exactly what to do.

"Elysia, can you let me see it?" she asked, extending her hand in a friendly manner.

Elysia blinked a bit, uncertain; then handed the toy-mouse, eyes wide with wonder.

"Thank you," Winry said. She took out a screwdriver from her pocket and opened the toy so that she could have a look inside. Her smile widened when she found the problem.

"I thought so. A gear's out of place. So I do this and…" Tongue slightly sticking out in concentration, she placed the screwdriver on the gear and made a couple of turns, securing the loose piece of mechanism. "…Okay!" As soon as she closed the toy again, she wound it carefully and put it on the table. The mouse instantly sprang to life and started making circles on the table.

All the children watched in amazement, especially Elysia.

"Wow!" she said, looking up at Winry. "A toy doctor!"

At that, Winry couldn't help but laugh and pet Elysia on the head. "Not really, but it's something close!"

* * *

"Gracia, is everything in order here?" asked Sarah, entering the kitchen to see Gracia filling some plates with more food.

"Yes, don't worry about it," the light-haired woman said, smiling. "Oh, you brought the dirty plates?"

Sarah shrugged a bit as she placed the empty plates she had been carrying in the kitchen sink. "No need to be in the way."

"Really, Sarah… You're a guest!" Gracia said, shaking her head.

"No, it's all right, I wanted to do it," Sarah insisted, nodding emphatically. She looked a bit back at the living-room, a smile crossing her features. "Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves."

"I sure hope so," Gracia said. "Where's Alice?"

"With the other children. She enjoys being the oldest one so she's taken up the task of babysitting the rest."

Gracia laughed. "Like an older sister, I suppose."

"Very much so," Sarah said, chuckling a bit; then turned on the tap and started washing the dishes. "You know, I was quite worried when we came here. After the way Alice reacted on the news of our departure from East City…" she sighed, not continuing. "I'm just glad she adjusted." She turned to Gracia. "And, in part, I owe it to you and Maes."

"You know we don't mind helping out," Gracia said, smiling kindly.

"I know… I suppose I've gotten used to doing a lot of things on my own."

Gracia turned to look at the young woman, who was still busy with the dishes. She didn't speak for some time, torn between curiosity and discretion. In the end, however, she decided to speak her mind.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to, and I hope you'll forgive my asking," Gracia said softly, "but… how old were you when your husband--?"

Sarah sighed. She answered before Gracia had the chance to finish her question. "Eighteen."

"Oh," the light-haired woman said, saddening. "I had figured you were young, but not _this_ young."

Sarah smiled ruefully. "In truth, I was together with Geoff – my husband - a lot longer than that. Since school, in fact. He proposed to me when I became seventeen… and the very next day we were married." Her expression changed, becoming almost cold at the memory. "And then he died."

Gracia nodded, taking in what her friend said. "It must have been difficult for you."

"At first. But I had Alice to think of, so I couldn't fail her. She gave me the strength to carry on with my life and understand that lingering in the past never helps."

Before realising it, Gracia turned her gaze, just briefly, to her husband's direction. Sarah turned as well. She guessed what was going through Gracia's mind.

"We don't have war. And even if we did, we married our husbands because of who they were," she said, clasping Gracia's arm; then returned her attention to the dishes once more. "And you're not so afraid of what you'll face if it is to happen again."

Gracia arched an eyebrow. "Are you talking about the lieutenant you like?"

Sarah didn't answer in words. She just nodded, and that made Gracia smile a bit.

"Did you tell him that?"

"No," Sarah admitted, "But I might."

* * *

"Did you always want to be a mechanic?" Maes asked Winry. They were both sitting on a couple of chairs close to the window, enjoying a good conversation while Elysia was busy playing happily with the toy mouse.

Winry nodded. "Ever since I could remember myself actually. Ed used to make fun of me because of it, but Al always said that I'd become the best mechanic ever."

"You three grew up together like siblings, right? You must have caused a lot of trouble!" Maes said, grinning widely.

Winry couldn't help it. She laughed.

"I guess you could say that, though _I_ was always the one getting worried. And that has hardly changed. Just when I think they've returned to stay in Resembool, it turns out Ed totally busted his arm!"

It was then that her laughter died on her lips, and her expression saddened.

"Ed is hospitalised for some major injuries, and Al is worried about something."

Maes said nothing, but he had sobered too.

"Ed's automail… I attached a new one just around a month ago, but taking a look at him today, it's damaged all over the place. Even his body has taken quite the beating." She turned at Maes, eyes almost welling up with tears. "Just what kind of life are they having?"

The only answer she got was Elysia's joyous laughter as she still played on.

"But no matter what happens, they barely say anything about it. And when they left to restore their bodies, they decided that by themselves without getting any advice." She sighed. "If I were really their sister… I wonder if they would have talked to me about their leaving or what happened with those wounds I saw today."

"It's not that they didn't ask for advice. It's that they didn't need any advice."

Winry looked at Maes, not really understanding. "There are times that things have to be said to be understood though, aren't there?"

That made Maes chuckle. "You can't do anything about that." Still smiling a bit, he took off his glasses and started cleaning them with a cloth. "Men are the type that speak through actions rather than words. If they're going to suffer, they want to avoid making other people support them as much as possible; and they don't want other people worry about them either. That's why they won't say anything." His green eyes, now clearly visible without hiding behind the glasses, now locked their gaze on the window. That's how Maes remained for some time, little knowing that, at another part of the city, a Gondorian soldier was assuring an Amestrian lieutenant that he was fine, and he _would_ be fine for as long as he had to. He turned to Winry again.

"But when those brothers start giving up… at that exact time, you stop them. Isn't that enough?"

Winry didn't answer. She saw Maes's point, and yet she still wasn't sure what to make of things. Nor would she have the chance to, because it was then that all the kids rushed toward Elysia, shouting: "Elysia, let's play!" Especially the boys seemed very willing to play with the little girl, and even started arguing amongst themselves who would get to play with her first.

"Your daughter's popular!" Winry said, laughing.

Maes, however, didn't seem to share the humour of the situation. In one swift movement, he put on his glasses and towered over the boys with the austerity of a father wishing to protect his daughter's purity. "Hey, punks! Don't you dare touch my baby!"

At that point, Winry decided that Maes was letting his actions speak _a lot_ louder than his words.

TBC…


	28. Grand Arcanum

That cold night in December, Central was covered in a white eerie veil of mist, making the atmosphere damp and frosty. Nothing stirred, and most of the lights had already gone out as the hour was late. This lack of light gave the streets a fearsome sense of foreboding, because it seemed that this was a time in which only the dead were welcome to walk.

In spite of this, there _were_ living people on the move. And they were now walking swiftly towards one direction, staying close and using the cloak of darkness that was offered to them so as not to be seen by unfriendly eyes.

Havoc, who was walking ahead, raised a hand to signal to the others to stop.

"What is it?" whispered Beregond. He was the last of the line, making sure that he kept an eye on the rear – and on Scar.

"We're getting close," Havoc answered. "Someone's bound to be watching. We should be careful."

"Then we'd better go up on the roofs," Scar said, already looking up. "That's where they're bound to be if they want to keep an eye on the ground."

Sure enough, when the three men climbed up the fire escape of a nearby building, they came face to face with one of the mercenaries. He, however, never got the chance to fire or call for help. And so, after rendering him unconscious and tying him up, Havoc, Beregond and Scar walked up to the edge of the roof so they could get a clear view of the ground.

It was Beregond who first spotted the hideout. Tapping Havoc on the shoulder, he pointed down and to his left, where there were several men gathered in one place – all clothed in military garment.

"It seems they have an entire operation running here," Scar noted grimly, also looking in the same direction.

"But how many are there?" Havoc said. He kept his voice low so that only his two companions would listen. "This mist really isn't helping."

"Does it matter?" Beregond replied. "There are still only three of us and we have to be careful not to jeopardise Rick's safety." He looked again at the men, watching how they sat by the fire and joked around. "We need to form a plan."

"And what sort of plan would that be?" Scar said.

"Subtlety, for example," Beregond answered. "We locate Rick and we get him out of there before we're discovered."

Havoc, however, shook his head. "These guys are soldiers, Beregond, even if not part of the Amestrian military. They have enough training to expect anyone who tries to sneak up on them." He paused, contemplating matters. "The Colonel always said: 'Surprise attacks are effective in immobilising an enemy.' Why don't we go for that?"

"A mouse can only bite once before the jaws of the cat close around it," Scar said, shaking his head.

Beregond blinked; then his face instantly lit up and a grin formed in his lips. "That's it!"

"What is?"

"Havoc, do you remember my story in the train? When I marched with the other Men of the West against Sauron?"

Havoc frowned. "Yeah, I do. But what does that…?" He never finished his sentence; because it was at that moment that he caught on. He smirked broadly.

"You know… that just might work."

Neither seemed to notice Scar looking at them with piqued curiosity – especially Beregond.

* * *

If there was something that the mercenaries welcomed, it was the mist. After all, if anything, it kept them hidden from sight. And this was why, though they still kept vigil for anything unusual, they were also relaxed enough to converse casually to one another as they sat around a fire to warm themselves.

All that is, except one; the leader of the mercenaries.

"Any word from the sentinels?" he asked, approaching the group that were gathered by the fire.

"None, Sir," his second-in-command answered.

The leader frowned slightly; then went to the radio and started transmitting. "West Front, anything happening?"

"Nothing, Sir."

"North Front, respond. What's the status so far?"

"Everything's quiet, Sir."

"East Front, how's everything on that side?"

There was a cough, and then: "All clear, Sir."

"South Front, do you copy?"

"Affirmative, Sir."

"Any strange Os or Ps?"

"No persons or objects in view, Sir."

"All right. That will be all." And with that, the leader of the mercenaries turned off the transmitter. Still, he didn't seem to be put at ease by the way he started pacing up and down, a frown settled on his features and his arms folded across his chest.

"Is anything the matter, Sir?" the second-in-command finally ventured to ask.

The leader didn't speak for several moments as he stopped in his tracks and looked at the white veil of mist before him. "Do you know the meaning of 'sense of foreboding'? It's when you get that nasty feeling that everything is about to hit the fan."

"Sir, with all due respect, everything went according to plan."

"Almost," the leader said. "Who were those men with the children?"

The second-in-command shrugged. "It's of no matter. They've been taken care of."

The leader didn't say anything this time. He just turned on his heel and took a couple of steps to go back into his tent.

It was then, however, that the ground started shaking and getting ripped right below their feet.

"What was that?" the second-in-command cried out. He cocked his gun and kept pointing it at every direction, unsure where he should aim.

The leader of the mercenaries looked at the ground, examining carefully. He cursed loudly.

"Alchemic residue! Some alchemist tries to be funny with us!"

The second-in-command's eyes widened. "Do you think it's the same one we…?"

"Right now, I'm prepared for anything," the leader said. "Try to fish him out. I'll take care of the rest." And with that, he was gone out of sight, heading for his tent.

"All right, people! You heard him! Go!" the second-in-command cried, signalling to each and everyone into positions.

That is, until spikes of stone volleyed against him and his companions. Most of them instantly jumped out of harm's way, yet there were some who had wits enough to start firing at the direction from where the spikes sprang.

Silence reigned for many long moments throughout the hideout.

"Do you think we got him?" another mercenary asked, still aiming his gun for anything that might appear from the mist.

It was then that two shadowed figures moved swiftly, keeping themselves out of bullet range.

The second-in-command frowned at this, and with a stolid command to everyone to be prepared, he ventured ahead, followed closely behind by four more soldiers. The rest of the group remained behind, falling on the ground and ready to fire.

What they managed to see was a glint of metal. And then gunshots were heard throughout the area, only to be accompanied by screams of pain. Before any of the remaining mercenaries could understand what had happened, a black object flew out of the mist and landed on the closest soldier's feet.

It was a shotgun, and it was cloven in two.

"Is that the best you can do?"

All the mercenaries looked in the direction from where the voice sounded, and they saw a tall figure moving within the mist, keeping a sword drawn in his one hand and dragging with the other what could only be another man. That man was squirming and whimpering pitifully, clearly in pain.

"Didn't your mother tell you not to use guns if you don't know how to aim?" Beregond mocked again, dropping the man discourteously as though ridding himself of something vile.

The answer to Beregond would have been a volley of bullets, but for the ground torn asunder below the soldiers' feet once again. And before any of them had the chance to compose themselves, Beregond was already onto them, sword in hand, followed closely behind by Scar; for it was his alchemy that kept the mercenaries at bay. Any mercenary who tried to shoot at them had to face the Gondorian, who would just hack the gun in two; and any mercenary left who still tried to fight, had to face Scar and would not survive.

"Can you see him?" Scar asked Beregond amid the uproar. A soldier who tried to punch him ended up with his face on the ground, dead.

"No!" Beregond answered, parrying another mercenary's attack and kicking him in the stomach. "Nevertheless, we must fight on!" And with that, he slashed at a second mercenary that came onto him. The latter fell on his knees, clutching his chest in pain.

It was not enough, as Beregond quickly discovered. More started coming from the interior of the hideout. But it wasn't _that_ that filled Beregond with worry. It was what one of the mercenaries was carrying.

A backpack which Beregond could clearly see had an array drawn on it.

An array that Beregond _knew_ what it did.

"_Ai, Valar!_" he exclaimed, horrified. "Scar, get down!"

"What?"

"DOWN!" the Gondorian screamed. Stabbing his sword upright on the ground, he grabbed the Ishbalan and ducked.

It wasn't a moment too soon. A ball of lightning emanated from the backpack and almost hit the two alchemists.

Almost, but for Beregond's instincts. The sword, being made out of metal, served as a conduit to attract most of the lightning's energy and pass it on to the ground, away from the two men.

It still hurt.

Gritting his teeth, Beregond clapped, lifting a barrier so that Scar and he could get into fighting position once again without worrying about bullets.

"Looks like we underestimated them," Beregond said, gritting his teeth. Another ball of lightning got charged and hit their barrier, making the Gondorian flinch at the bright light that surrounded them.

"So what now?"

"We stick to the plan," Beregond said. Signalling to Scar, they both started running, making sure that the mercenaries' attacks missed their target. As the backpack was getting charged again, Beregond found his chance and clapped to form rocky spikes coming out of the ground; then dodged the bullets that got aimed at him and took cover to some of the debris that were quickly forming hither and thither.

"For how long?" Scar said, also ducking out of harm's way.

"For as long as it's necessary!" Beregond said. He clapped again, forming more spikes, whereas Scar used his own alchemy to fight also.

All they could do was hope that Havoc would hurry up.

* * *

His guards were agitated, Rick could tell. This came as no surprise to him. After all, the gunshots were quite close and, from the look of things, his captors were losing the fight. He squirmed in an attempt to bring himself in an upright position and get a peek, but it was no use; the ropes around his hands and feet were too tight. All he managed to do was make one of the guards turn at him and say abruptly: "Hold still or the next shot will be through your head!"

It was then that another mercenary appeared. His shotgun was still in his hands and he looked almost panicky.

"What the hell are you guys doing here?" he cried in exasperation. "Didn't you hear the order? Everyone is to go at the front and face the intruders!"

"When was _that_ order issued?!" the second guard said, clearly surprised.

"These guys are killing us and you want to chit-chat?!" the newcomer said angrily. "Now snap to it!"

"What about the kid?"

The newcomer's answer was a cocking of the gun. "I'll take care of him."

That seemed good enough for the two guards. Finally deciding that they were probably needed more in the battlefield rather than witnessing the execution of a prisoner, they hurried off. As for the mercenary that remained behind, he walked slowly towards Rick, looking to his left and right while doing so. It was clear that he didn't want any witnesses around.

But Rick had no reason to worry. He had already recognised Havoc, and he was more than just relieved to see him there. He now squirmed even more forcefully against his bonds, and the muffled noises that he managed to make from behind his gag urged the lieutenant to hurry up and untie him.

"Hold still, this will only take a minute," Havoc said; then untied the kerchief that covered the boy's mouth so forcefully that the lips were bruised and swollen.

"Where are the others?" Rick asked, panting as he felt able to breathe again.

"Causing mayhem," Havoc simply said, using the knife that he had gotten from the mercenary the three of them had incapacitated to cut the ropes. He hissed a bit to see the chafed skin on the boy's ankles and wrists. "Bastards," he muttered under his breath. "Do you think you'll be able to move on your own?" he asked Rick.

"Even fly, if it means getting out of here," Rick said and stood up. If he were in any pain, he hid it well behind a mask of determination and clenched teeth.

Unable but to smile in mild admiration, Havoc offered his support, ready to guide the boy to safety.

It was then that a maniacal cackle sounded so close to them that it sent a chill to Havoc and Rick's heart.

"Here comes Barry!"

And with that, the suit of armour aimed his butcher's knife on Havoc's head.

It was speed that saved Havoc again. After pushing Rick in one direction and throwing himself in another, Barry only managed to hit the ground. But, as the lieutenant quickly figured, that wasn't something that would stop a seven-foot suit of armour; so he grabbed his gun out of its holster and fired.

Barry's laughter was barely more audible than the ricocheting sounds the bullets made as they hit his armour.

"Damn it!" Havoc cursed under his breath. Beregond had already warned him that _that_ suit of armour was like Alphonse – and yet there he was, _shooting_ at it!

Havoc didn't have the luxury to think about this long enough – Barry came onto him at full speed, wielding the butcher's knife once again. Havoc didn't stand a fighting chance, so he jumped again out of harm's way.

Almost.

Crying out in pain, Havoc instantly doubled over, clutching his chest where he got slashed, staining both arms with his flowing blood. It didn't take a great mind to realise that that was a perfect chance for the armour to finish him off. All Havoc could do was watch his doom approaching in the form of the butcher's knife.

That is, until a stone, seemingly thrown out of nowhere, hit Barry straight on the head, wobbling it off balance.

"Hey! Not fair, kid! Wait for your own turn!"

Havoc never thought that he would ever be grateful to an Ishbalan kid, but Rick made him re-consider. Because it was the boy who had thrown that stone, and then another, followed in quick succession by another; and they were all aimed at Barry's head, until it finally fell off.

That wouldn't stop Barry, of course; Havoc knew that. But it did give him the time to think clearly and figure that there was something that he could shoot at. And so, letting out what could only be described as a battle cry, Havoc fired again, this time aiming for the gauntlet holding the knife.

It was a risk well taken. With two rapid gunshots, the knife was shaken enough to be thrown out of Barry's grip. Cursing loudly, Barry let out a great shriek and dove for both head and knife.

But neither Havoc nor Rick had any intentions of staying a moment longer to watch Barry attack again. They ran as fast as their feet – and their wounds – permitted them, hoping that it was fast enough.

* * *

Another ball of lightning was charged, this time aimed at Scar. The Ishbalan used his alchemy to deconstruct one of the spikes Beregond had formed to fall on the mercenary's heads, then quickly ducked before he got hit. But, when it was time to get up, it was to his utter dismay to find out that he couldn't.

His body wouldn't comply. And it probably still wouldn't comply but for Beregond grabbing him and dragging him to a make-shift cover.

"Are you okay?" Beregond asked. He was panting heavily, and the Ishbalan could see sweat flowing down the Gondorian's forehead in spite of the cold that surrounded them.

"I'm not sure," Scar answered truthfully. "I feel like there's no more strength within me."

Beregond cursed under his breath. "You too, then?" Both men flinched when another ball of lightning hit their cover.

"I don't understand," Scar said then. "We haven't been fighting for that long."

"No," Beregond agreed. "But performing alchemy takes a lot of physical and mental strength. Not to mention, you and I were already weakened enough before getting ourselves into this mess." Beregond dared a peek; then quickly hid before a bullet hit him. "We have to end this somehow; otherwise we're in major risk of a rebound," he declared.

"How are we to do that?" Scar asked.

"You'll have to let me think," Beregond hissed.

"We don't have that luxury," the Ishbalan noted. He made another ridge in the ground, shaking it violently enough for the mercenaries to think twice before coming any closer.

But the Gondorian hardly paid heed to him anymore. All he did was scrunch his face into a deep frown as he lost himself in deep concentration, mumbling what sounded a lot like a recitation of lightning's properties and weaknesses, as well as conduits and particles of it. That is, until he finally swore again - loudly this time.

And then, just as Beregond lifted his head again… his expression lit up.

"Scar, cover me!"

Scar raised an eyebrow at this, nevertheless he complied. While he made sure that none of the mercenaries managed to hit Beregond, the Gondorian clapped his hands once again; then placed them on the ground. Blue light emanated from the ground and seemed to reach to the entire area. All the mercenaries flinched, unsure what kind of horrific transmutation would happen.

They certainly didn't expect droplets of water falling on them and on the ground. That made several of the mercenaries laugh.

"What is this? Are you hoping to drown us?" they mocked.

They never saw Beregond's small mischievous smile tugging on his lips as he clapped again. "Scar, get ready to jump."

Scar didn't know what to make of it. Either the Gondorian got utterly mad, or…

He looked again at the drops of water and then at the mist.

Scar finally understood. Beregond used his alchemy to condense the moisture enough to form water out of it - which, in turn, wetted the ground and formed small puddles here and there.

Just like rain would do.

A rain filled with lightning.

Scar felt his eyes widening in realisation. Did Beregond just--?

"Now!" the man cried out, cutting into his thoughts. Catching on, Scar instantly jumped on the ledge Beregond had formed on the wall through alchemy, followed closely behind by the Gondorian himself.

Not a moment too soon. Another ball of lightning was about to hit them.

Yet that didn't mean that the lightning _didn't_ hit something. For as the electric ball landed on the wet ground, the energy spread out, electrocuting anyone who was unfortunate enough to be standing on it – in this case, the mercenaries. Most of them didn't even have the chance to scream as the electric current hit them, making them collapse.

And then everything went eerily quiet.

Two seconds passed… then three… and then Beregond's grip on the ledge loosened and he fell down, landing awkwardly – and painfully – on hands and feet. Scar followed closely behind, having a bit more strength in him, and stood beside the exhausted Gondorian.

"You've weakened greatly, Man of Stone. Wasn't there a chance for a rebound?"

"There was," Beregond panted, "But it was either that or nothing." He bowed his head, as though just keeping it upwards proved too much of a difficult task.

He only lifted it up again when he heard Havoc's voice, calling out.

"Beregond!"

Seconds later, the lieutenant himself and Rick appeared from around the corner too. Havoc slowed considerably when he noticed the bodies and Beregond's condition.

"Jeez, Beregond, the plan was to _distract_ them," he said, looking around him and finding nothing but unconscious mercenaries.

If Beregond ever found the strength to answer, he never did. At that moment, a shriek echoed through the air and Barry leapt out of the shadows. He had his butcher knife with him once more, and now he saw the perfect chance to throw it in Havoc's direction, completing his revenge.

What happened next lasted no more than a few seconds. Yet to everyone involved it seemed like everything had slowed down, making the entire scene unfold before their eyes with quite the clarity. Rick cried out in alarm and surprise, whereas Havoc turned, his eyes widening as he watched the knife flying toward him; Scar lunged forward, right arm aglow and shattering Barry's armour to pieces.

And as for Beregond… while screaming in an almost berserk state, he stretched out one arm and, in a blink of an eye, a clay knight formed out of the ground to stand between Havoc and the knife. The knife buried itself in the knight's chest, and Havoc, now fallen on his behind, remained staring at the trembling Gondorian.

Because Beregond _hadn't_ clapped for that transmutation.

And then it seemed as everything warped into normal speed once again. Beregond's eyes rolled heavenwards, his eyelids closed; then the Gondorian barely braced himself as his body collapsed, almost lifeless. The clay knight had also dissolved into nothingness, just as quickly as it had appeared, and the knife fell harmlessly to the ground.

* * *

Gasping, Havoc instantly sprang onto his feet again and rushed at Beregond's side. "Beregond?"

Beregond's answer was an almost inaudible whisper.

"I'm still here."

Still there. But whatever remaining strength he had, he used it in a struggle to remain conscious; Havoc could see that.

"Just stay with me," Havoc murmured back encouragingly.

However, what he heard next wasn't encouraging at all.

"This is almost a gift from God, to see someone who has been an obstacle on my path for so long reduced to this vulnerable, broken thing."

Scar's voice sent a chill to Havoc's heart. The lieutenant slowly turned around, facing the Ishbalan, who was now standing quite close, observing the scene with interest; and his hand reached for the gun slowly, figuring that he must have one or two bullets left.

With any luck, they would be enough.

"Scar…" Rick said, watching everyone with worry. "Please…"

Scar, however, just shook his head. "There's been enough fighting this night. You've earned my respect for now, Man of Stone. If God wills it, we'll settle our differences at another time and place."

"If God… wills it," Beregond echoed in agreement, each word coming out through great effort.

Scar didn't say anything this time. He merely turned on his heel, beckoning Rick to follow him back to the Ishbalan camp. Rick stood for a moment in hesitation, first looking at Scar's direction, then at Beregond's; he was clearly indecisive as to what to do. Finally, after casting a brief, apologetic glance at the Gondorian, he too vanished into the shadows.

He never saw the tears that welled up momentarily in Beregond's eyes. But Havoc did, and he sighed.

"At least he'll be reunited with his brother."

"Yes." It was then that Beregond, while looking up at his companion, noticed the blood on Havoc's chest. "You're hurt."

Havoc half-grinned. "What? This?" A bark of nonchalant laughter echoed through the air. "This is nothing! I've had worse!" He offered a hand at Beregond. "Can you stand up?"

"I'll have to," Beregond said.

Havoc nodded and helped the Gondorian on his feet. The moment that he let go of Beregond, however, the latter swayed dangerously off balance. If it weren't for Havoc grabbing him at the last minute, Beregond would have certainly crashed on the ground.

"Lean on me," Havoc suggested. Before Beregond had even the chance to say anything about it, the lieutenant had already passed one of the Gondorian's arms across his shoulders, whereas one of his own wrapped around Beregond's torso. "Did you ever consider that you're maybe too old for this?" Havoc asked then, as both men started forging away from the camp. "You _are_ 6,000 years old, you know."

"Shut up." Albeit tired, Beregond's tone still had a teasing quality in it; and it was difficult for either of the men not to laugh.

It was at that moment that they heard it.

A voice calling out: "Who's out there?"

Both men exchanged a glance, the same thought occurring to them.

_One of us? Or another mercenary?_

They decided they had to take their chances.

"Over here! My friend needs help!" Beregond cried out as loud as he could in his state.

Moments later, a figure stepped out of the shadows and stared at Havoc in an almost surprised look. It was a policeman, obviously on his beat before hearing the voices and rushing ahead to see what was going on.

"Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc. This is Sergeant Beregond. We came across enemy fire. Help us," Jean explained.

The policeman still stared for a few moments, his eyes taking in the sight the two men must have proved before him; then nodded.

"Wait here. I'll phone for an ambulance."

And then another voice sounded not too far away.

"That won't be necessary."

Everyone turned to look at the huge bulk of a military officer who came into the scene, and both Havoc and Beregond suddenly felt very uneasy, for he was looking at them with quite the scrutiny.

All they could do was salute in an embarrassed manner.

* * *

Somewhere in the background, a great clock that towered over Central chimed 2 o'clock. Beregond could see it through a window quite well, yet all he could think of at that moment that it was a good thing that it was far away. He had quite the splitting headache and the merest sound made his temples throb.

Wrenching his gaze from there, he looked at his surroundings with apprehension. The room was huge, filled with all kinds of lavish furniture; nevertheless, Beregond still felt like a caged animal. His smile was barely visible when the maid placed a warm cup of tea on the table.

"Yes, Colonel, they're here."

Beregond pricked up his ears instantly. It sounded as though Major Armstrong was at the other room, talking on the phone with someone – and that someone was most probably Roy Mustang.

"They came across trouble," Armstrong said then, clearly answering to Mustang. "From what Sergeant Beregond said, some mercenaries tried to start a riot between the Ishbalans and the Amestrian army. Lieutenant Havoc is injured, but nothing too serious. The doctor has already checked up on him and now he's resting."

Beregond sighed and lost all interest in the phone conversation. He bowed his head and remained staring at nothing.

Or rather, staring at his hands.

It seemed so trivial back then, during the battle. But now, as he thought back at matters, he became quite terrified at what happened.

He didn't clap to perform Alchemy. One wave of the hand and the clay knight was transmuted in the blink of an eye. He didn't mean for it to happen but… he was now aware _why_ it happened.

_When I reached it, it felt as though a great deal of information was forced into my head and I suddenly could understand a lot of things about Alchemy,_ Ed had said.

_I catch some talk, but I don't understand it; images float before my eyes that I cannot comprehend; my mind fills with a kind of knowledge that I didn't think it even existed,_ Beregond himself had said under hypnosis.

With those words still echoing in mind, Beregond took out a piece of paper out of his pocket. His fingers were trembling from the fatigue he was suffering from, and it took a great deal of control to finally unfold the paper.

That same piece of paper where there was a sketch of a man, limbs outstretched within a circle and touching the points of a star.

Beregond could recall his theory even now.

_What if one doesn't need to clap their hands?_

Beregond sighed, for he now understood perfectly. He had reached the next level in Alchemy. And as he checked himself, it was a wonder to him why he hadn't noticed it sooner. Indeed, if he concentrated just a bit, he could feel alchemic energy surrounding him and penetrating him – bound to the energy that his soul was.

And then… other feelings emerged.

_No!_

Clenching his teeth in anger, Beregond curled his fingers around the piece of paper, not caring about its condition anymore.

He couldn't accept this. This couldn't be happening to him. Why should it happen to him? What right did he have in having… in using… _this?_ Edward and Alphonse were the experts in Alchemy, not him; never him! He was just their student! Those boys had been studying alchemy almost all their lives so to figure a way to get their bodies back and now he came waltzing along to just…!

It wasn't fair!

"Who am I?"

_Who am I to take this knowledge from them,_ was the question he meant to ask himself; but the moment the first three words escaped his lips, he stopped; thus forming another, far more heart-gnawing question.

Who was he anymore?

Before Beregond could help it, his eyes locked on the silverware displayed on the centre of the table. And the distorted image he saw there seemed far truer than any reflection in any mirror could ever be.

He covered his eyes with both hands and turned away. The sight was too revolting.

"Sergeant Beregond?"

Though Beregond lowered his hands from his face, he didn't look up. He didn't have to anyway, because he had recognised Armstrong's voice, addressing him this time.

"You should be resting," Armstrong said then.

"I can't," Beregond replied softly. His hands remained in his lap where they had landed, fingers numbingly unmoving and lifeless – and he resumed with just staring at them. It seemed that that was the only thing he could do.

That is, until Armstrong's form approached him and settled a hand on the Gondorian's shoulder.

"What's the matter?"

Beregond just lowered his head further, almost cowering from the touch.

"Everything. Everything's the matter."

Had he looked up, he would have seen Armstrong smile a bit.

"Lieutenant Havoc told me about your worry for the Elric Brothers. I have some good news for you."

Only then did Beregond face Armstrong. "You found them?"

Armstrong nodded. "They're at the hospital. They got hurt badly, but they're out of danger."

Beregond's spirits lifted up a bit at this. "Thank you." He paused, contemplating matters a bit. "Which hospital?"

But Armstrong raised an eyebrow. "You're not going there before you get some rest. Don't force me to make it an order."

And the Gondorian was downcast once more. "I understand," he breathed out, accepting his defeat.

"Good," Armstrong said, beaming. He pulled a cord that was hanging close to the door.

Right on cue, the maid appeared through the door and curtsied politely. "You wanted to see me, Sir?"

"Yes, Mirabel. Please escort Mr. Beregond upstairs and show him to his room."

"Very well, Sir." The maid turned to the Gondorian and motioned with her head the way. "Follow me, please."

"I have your bags there," Armstrong said then to Beregond. "You can get changed once you have a bath. I've already told one of the other maids to prepare some hot water for you."

Beregond arose wearily and bowed his head. "All right. Thank you, Major." And with that, he went out.

* * *

Beregond had to admit that the bath was refreshing. Moreover, the warm water released those tense knots that had formed on his muscles, treacherously relaxing him and even seducing him to get some sleep. His body clearly demanded it now, for he could barely move to put on a bathrobe and walk to the bedroom that was prepared especially for him, where some fresh nightclothes were already unfolded on the bed. He changed slowly, almost carefully and every motion greatly focused – but he didn't settle on the bed just yet. He first went up to his sword, now resting against the wall, checking to see any damages that he could fix.

Fortunately, there were none, in spite of the amount of electricity that went through it, so he put it back in its place. And thus his attention was drawn to the tattered overcoat that had been thrown haphazardly on the chair and dug into one of the inner pockets to take out his journal. He forgot himself as he opened it and let a couple of photos slip out, but he had soon placed them back neatly between the pages. After also finding a pen, he started writing in the Elvish tongue, absentmindedly sitting down on the bed as he did so.

He didn't have the chance to write much, though. His torso leaned sideways as though drawn by the soft pillow close by, whereas the pen and journal slipped out of his hands.

His tears had already surged out by the time the thud of the impact was heard, and soon spasms of grief followed. But Beregond was past caring anymore. Tomorrow he could be strong again; now, he just wanted to let go.

And so, as his defences were torn asunder, his voice of pride cracked and any sense of dignity was dismissed, he curled into a small, insignificant ball, head buried in his arms as though shutting out the relentlessness and cruelty of the world, and cried very much like a small boy; hardly a sound coming out of his lips, but tears flowing out constantly. He cried for the choices he made and the face in the mirror he couldn't recognise anymore; even in fear for what was to come.

And, above all else, he cried for the goodbyes he never said.

He never saw Havoc standing by the doorway, watching him sadly.

**To Be Concluded…**


	29. Crossing

"…And now for something completely different. A group of terrorists was apprehended at the early hours of morning by the Amestrian military forces. The group was located at the East side of Central City and it is highly suspected that their main objective was to create discord between Amestrian government and the Ishbalan refugees. Führer Bradley has already stated that he's appalled by such news, yet he also expressed great relief at the efficiency of the military. Already representatives of the refugees have contacted the parliament, requesting permission to move further south so that there won't be any more incidents of such kind. Meanwhile, the terrorists are being held within military headquarters, where they will be questioned for further details. The number of terrorists and the name of the terrorist organization under which they were operating has yet to be disclosed and…"

The doctor that had been listening to the radio broadcast whistled and shook his head. "Never thought I'd hear that kind of thing in my life," he commented. He faced 2nd Lieutenant Maria Ross and Sergeant Bloch. "At least they didn't manage to do anything worse."

Ross and Bloch nodded politely at this, but said nothing. They didn't have to anyway. It was at that moment that the doctor's name was announced through the hospital speakers and he had to leave to tend to his duties.

Bloch was the first to speak of the two. "The Elric Brothers had better not hear about this. Now that Sergeant Beregond and Lieutenant Havoc are missing, they are bound to think the worst."

Ross smiled. "It won't be necessary. I got a call from Major Armstrong. They've been found."

"They have? That's great!" Bloch exclaimed happily.

However, the young sergeant also realized that something was very off.

"But… why didn't you tell Edward and Alphonse?"

Ross shook her head. "I got direct orders from Armstrong. And that's all I'm going to say to you, since you can't keep a secret to save your life," she said, the acidic tone not absent from her voice.

Bloch bowed his head in shame. "It's not my fault that Edward can prove so scary," he mumbled.

"He's fifteen," Ross reminded him, raising an eyebrow.

"You weren't there to see him really pissed off."

If Ross had any intention of retorting, she never did. She froze, pricking up her ears for a moment, and then she rushed inside Ed's room. Surprised, yet willing to help Ross, Bloch followed her.

Edward was sleeping, but his sleep wasn't a restful one. His hands had clenched into fists, grabbing the blanket tightly, and his head kept lolling sideways. Even his breathing was erratic and shallow.

"What the…?" Bloch started, but Ed's soft sobbing cut him off.

Ross and Bloch's eyes widened, and both soldiers exchanged a bemused glance. In the end, Ross decided that Ed shouldn't be going through such a bad dream, so she shook him awake.

Ed gasped and opened his eyes, frightened. "Wayam!"

"Sir?" Ross asked gently.

Ed blinked once, twice… taking in his surroundings and the sight of the two soldiers that were at his bedside, momentarily lost. In a matter of moments, his breathing had almost returned to normal, and he ran his flesh hand through his sweat- dampened hair in frustration.

"Nothing. Go back to the hall."

And with that he turned his back to Ross and Bloch, not another word coming out of him.

The soldiers could only comply with the command.

* * *

"Thank you for taking care of me," Winry said. She was already standing by the doorstep of the Hughes' residence, her backpack with her gear on her shoulders; she needed it to work on Ed's arm.

"Are you really okay?" Gracia asked, her motherly instincts directed this time to the fifteen-year-old girl. "You can stay here as much as you like while you're here."

"I know," Winry admitted, smiling. "But I can't let myself get spoiled. I'll go find a place by myself once I fix…"

It was then that she felt a very powerful tugging. And as she looked down, she saw Elysia grabbing the sleeve of her jacket with both hands.

"Elysia…" Gracia said. But her daughter hardly paid any attention to her as she still clung to Winry. Gracia sighed in defeat, cupping her face with her hand. "She's gotten completely attached to you."

"Aww, that's sweet!" Maes commented with a grin, also watching the scene. "She looks at you like you're her sister!"

Winry stared at Maes, almost stunned.

"Come back again soon, sis!" Elysia said then, smiling happily.

Gracia couldn't help it; she smiled. "It seems like Elysia has already decided for you. You know now where you'll be staying today, don't you?"

Winry didn't speak for many long moments, her eyes still wide in surprise… In the end, though, she knelt down to give Elysia a tight hug.

"I'm happy to have made a little sister!"

It was then that, suddenly, the telephone rang. Maes hurried inside to pick up the receiver, and both Gracia and Winry heard him when he answered with a brief: "Hello?"

What the two didn't expect was Maes's voice becoming quite serious.

"What? When did this happen?" There was a pause. "I see. I'm coming over there right now." And with that, Maes hung up and came back at Gracia's side.

"Is something wrong?" the woman asked in concern.

"Unexpected trouble, I'm afraid. I'll have to pass by Major Armstrong's house," Maes said with a sigh, holding Gracia delicately by her waist. "Do you remember the way to the hospital on your own, Winry?"

"Of course, Mr. Hughes, don't worry about it," she said with a nod and, after kissing Elysia lightly on the cheek, she turned on her heel and started walking away.

"I'll see you later!" she said as she wove the family goodbye. Moments later, she was well on her way to the hospital.

* * *

"Hey, you!"

The man that was sitting handcuffed at the interrogation room in Central Headquarters raised his head to look at the guard in a bored manner. "What now?"

"You've got visitors. It's your wife."

The man raised an eyebrow at this. However, when he saw the inhumanely beautiful woman entering the room, he caught on at once.

"What's the matter, love? Missed me?"

"You could say that," she said, pushing an ebony-colored strand behind her ear.

"All right. You should know the drill, ma'am. Five minutes. Then you'll have to leave."

"Five minutes will be enough," was all she said, a strange smile forming on her lips.

The guard let out a bark of laughter; then closed the door. Only once the door was shut and locked did Lust address the leader of the mercenaries again.

"You had assured me that everything would go according to plan," she said, sitting on a chair with her lady-like grace.

"And it would have if you had done your job and informed me correctly as to what I'd have to deal with."

"You were supposed to kidnap Ishbalans. Don't tell me your trained men couldn't handle them."

"Oh, they could handle _them_," the leader said indignantly. "They couldn't handle the alchemists that were with the Ishbalans."

"Oh? Care to elaborate?" she asked.

"They were two and they were powerful, I can tell you that. The one pretty much stood out; he was dark-colored, an X-shape mark on his forehead. You probably heard of him through the newspapers as 'Scar' – the alchemist murderer."

Lust kept her features neutral at this, even though she was surprised to hear that Scar actually survived the events of Lab 5. "And what about the other?"

The leader shrugged. "I don't know a name, and he seemed like a pretty much ordinary person but for the sword he wielded."

"Indeed?" Things were beginning to become more and more interesting. "Was it a tall, dark-haired man, his hair long enough to tie in a ponytail?"

The leader snorted. "So you know who I am talking about. Just like the lieutenant colonel that was oh so lucky to have found me and my men unconscious to arrest us."

Lust raised an eyebrow. "And now I must assume I'm not the first one you talked to."

The leader waved a hand dismissively. "I didn't tell him about you, don't worry. That guy seemed more interested in the alchemist more than anything else."

"I see."

"Good," the leader said then. "Since you do see and all, can you do something so that I can get out of here?"

Lust smiled. "Of course. That's what I came here for anyway."

The leader grinned. "Okay. What's the plan?"

That was the last thing he ever said. At the next moment, Lust had elongated one index finger, piercing the man's skull through; then pulled it out, a manic expression settled on her face as her victim crumpled in a heap on the floor.

"I never said you would get out of here _alive_." Standing up, she cast one brief glance at the direction of the body before she knocked at the door.

"You can let me out now, Envy."

The 'guard' did just that, his own grin just as wide as Lust's. "So… is it done?"

Lust shook her head, her chuckling proving quite haunting rather than mirthful. "It has only begun."

* * *

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

That's what Ed kept thinking as he still lied down, his back to the door and his eyes locked stubbornly on the window.

He had that dream. Again. The one where he was he was just a toddler and walked in on his parents as they were dealing with something which, quite clearly, was very bad. And Ed honestly didn't know what to make of it.

If it were a dream, why should he be dreaming about something like that? But… if it were memories, there was great deal of more questions to be answered.

What happened exactly? When had it happened? Why should he remember such a thing _now_, after all this time? Who was that person that Ed, for whatever reason, couldn't recall? The name Wayam shouldn't mean anything to him.

But, more importantly… why did that man look like…?

Damn it, he was getting a headache.

Maybe… maybe Al could help him. Truth be told, however, he didn't have much hope. For one thing, Al hadn't witnessed the scene himself; and even if he had, he must have been barely one year old. He couldn't possibly remember anything.

And there was still the fact that Al had, for one reason or other, shut Ed out. In fact, he barely talked to him anymore, and that disturbed Edward even more.

Wait a minute. In the dream, memory or whatever that was, the bastard told his mother to call the Rockbells. So perhaps there was a chance that Winry knew something.

Hopefully.

It was at that moment that the door opened. "Ed?"

Ed could tell that the voice belonged to the very person he wanted to see. Smiling a bit, he turned around. "Hey, Winry. Shall we get started?"

Winry took out her tools and strapped on a working apron, a big grin forming on her lips. "I'm ready when you are." In a matter of moments, she had placed a small table on the bedside, where she put Ed's stretched arm, and then started working on the bolts.

"Didn't you sleep well last night? You look pale," she said.

"Bad dream. Don't worry about it." Ed answered. There was a small pause of silence, and then Ed decided to just go ahead and ask. "Um… Winry?"

Winry lifted her gaze from the automail and turned to him. "What is it?"

"Do you remember the time when Al and I... still had Mom and Dad?"

If the girl was surprised at this, she didn't show it. "Bits and pieces. To tell you the truth I don't remember your dad. "

"Oh."

She was looking at him curiously, Ed could tell.

"Why do you want to know?"

Ed shook his head and settled his face back on his pillow. "In that dream… there was someone else there. A man that both Mom and Dad must have known; even cared for enough to call your parents to come to our house when… something bad happened to him. I just wondered if you remembered anyone else besides my folks in our neighbourhood."

This time it was Winry's turn to shake her head. "I'm sorry, Edward. I don't know who you could mean." She paused, contemplating matters. "Did you ask Al? He might be able to tell you something more," Winry suggested.

"I thought about it," Ed admitted. His voice softened significantly when he added: "But… I don't think he really wants to talk to me right now. And I can't say I blame him."

Winry stopped working, looking at Ed with eyes widened. "What?"

Ed half closed his eyes, lowering his gaze as opening up proved more difficult than he cared to admit. "I had the chance to return him to normal, and I hesitated."

"Why?"

Ed bit his lower lip; nevertheless he knew he had to carry on. "Because I had to sacrifice humans." He was sure he heard a small gasp at this, just like he had expected. His voice softened even more, his sadness clearly reflected in his tone. "To me, they should've been guys I didn't really care about compared to Al. But I couldn't do it. And Al was close by, watching the whole thing."

There was a moment during which neither Ed nor Winry spoke.

"You made the right decision," she finally said, resuming with her work. "Because even if you could return him his body, I'm sure Al wouldn't want you to do it at the expense of others."

That made Ed face her with the intention to object, but Winry proved faster.

"Think about it, Ed. Maybe Al is mad at you because you _thought_ to sacrifice others."

Ed froze, eyes widening. Could it be really that?

"Done!" Winry announced then, cutting Ed off of his musings.

Ed got off the bed and checked his arm, moving it a couple of times to acquaint himself with the feeling of the automail. He was pleased to see that everything was working properly now.

Winry had worked wonders, like always.

"Now let's go to where Al is."

Ed's fears sprang up again within his heart. "But… I don't know what to say."

"Don't be silly. Just say 'I'm sorry.'" Winry laughed. "You really need to tell him some things in words."

Ed thought about it. Maybe Winry was right; perhaps that was the best approach. And, hopefully, everything would be fine in the end.

Ed grinned bravely at the prospect. "Okay. I'll do it."

* * *

Al was still at the terrace, at the same place where Ross and Bloch had put him, and he was feeling utterly miserable. He was completely battered, with no arms or legs and completely vulnerable; he could be killed by anyone or anything, if fate was a bit harsher.

Not that he cared too much about that. The dark thoughts that accumulated inside him and were such an odd contrast to the serene, sun-filled day before him, made him indifferent to such worries.

_What if you're a fake? An imitation?_ Barry had said.

_We're Homunculi, artificially created human beings,_ had said the woman-like creature.

"Was I ever really human?" Al wondered in a soft voice, looking up at the sky as though hoping that he would be able to find an answer there.

It was then that the door opened. Slightly surprised, Al turned his head to see who it was.

It was Ed, still dressed in hospital garment and in his arms a rather large bag, and Winry.

If Al had a heart, it would have certainly turned as cold as the iron in which his soul resided at seeing these two. No matter how kindly his brother or his friend smiled at him now.

"Al… I'm sorry," Ed said at that moment, oblivious to Al's thoughts. "I'll fix you right away." He placed the bundle on the ground and opened it, revealing all kinds of metallic parts and bolts.

"I got those from Resembool," Winry offered as an explanation. "They should work just fine for you, Al."

Al said nothing. He merely watched Ed as the latter started putting the parts in order so as to perform his alchemy.

That's what his brother was good at after all, wasn't it?

"Al, I won't give up," Edward said again. "We'll restore our bodies our own way, no matter what."

It was only then that Al finally decided to speak, making sure that he kept his emotions in check.

"You may be able to return to normal, Brother. But will I be able to?"

Ed grinned broadly – too broadly, the way Alphonse saw it.

"Of course. Don't worry about it." He stood up, fingers curling and uncurling as if he was warming himself up. "Okay… I'm starting." And with that, Ed clapped and put both hands on Alphonse's shoulder. Blue light surrounded him, and though Al was sure that his limbs were growing back in place, he didn't feel anything until the very end, when he realised that he was standing and looking down at his brother.

Al somehow felt there was some bitter irony in that.

"Well, how does it feel?" Ed asked.

_The new body… or you tricking me?_ Before Al knew what he was doing, both his hands clenched into fists. "Did you renew the seal in the armour so that my soul would remain here, just like last time?"

"Yes," Ed replied, nodding with a smile.

And that was what finally made Al snap.

"Along with my memories, I suppose?" The suit of armour felt a pang of grim satisfaction to see Edward's joviality vanish from his features. Now Al planned to take this to the end until he finally made Ed confess. "Memories are only data. An alchemist like you can easily implant fake memories, isn't that right, Brother?"

Ed still looked at Al incredulously. "You… were thinking about such a thing?"

"Why the surprise?" Al answered, his ruthlessness growing along with his anger. "Brother, there was something you started to ask me but you stopped. You said that you meant to ask me a long time. So let me make it easier for you. Were you trying to tell me that my soul and memories were something fake that you created?"

Ed gasped, and his eyes seemed to grow as wide as saucers; but it wasn't he who tried to answer.

"No!" Winry said, taking a step closer to Al. "Ed only wanted to ask you--"

Oh, yes. Of course she would say that, wouldn't she?

"Don't defend him!" Al snapped, finally doing the unthinkable – he pushed her away. And it was clear that she was just as surprised, because she remained looking at him, eyes wide open just like Ed's.

"Al, why…?" she started. But Al was past caring how hurt she sounded at that moment.

"Don't call me like that! The human named Alphonse Elric probably didn't exist in this world to begin with!"

"What are you talking about?" Winry exclaimed. "You two have been together almost forever! Granny and I have been with you too! Believe us, Al!"

Believe. Isn't that what he always did? And that was what he got back as a reward. This… shell!

"What do you expect me to believe? What do you expect me to believe with this empty body of mine?! You could all be lying to me!" he was almost shouting now, unable to control himself.

And Ed, his _brother_, had become awfully quiet.

"Well, Ed? Give me a reason to believe!" Al said, turning at him.

Ed lifted his gaze at him, eyes seeming almost dull. And Ed's reply was an odd mixture of defeat and disappointment. "Is that what you wanted to say all this time? Is that all you have to say?"

"Just answer my question, Brother! Why won't you say anything?! Why?!"

But he only got silence this time.

Well, if Edward didn't intent to give him an answer, Al had no reason in staying at this terrace any longer. Shaking his head, he turned on his heel and started walking away.

Or rather, he would have but for Ed suddenly grabbing one of his gauntlets with both arms.

"Let go!" Al cried, doing his best to pry himself of his brother's grip.

"Will you just listen to me, you idiot?" Ed said, refusing to release his brother.

"I said let go!" Al shouted before backhanding Ed right across his face. Such was his force that Ed was thrown a good two feet away and landed with a heavy thud on the ground.

"Ed!" Horrified, Winry ran at his direction, offering her hand to help him up.

But Ed didn't take it. He pushed himself to his feet, a nasty bruise now marring his face and blood flowing down from the corner of his mouth.

Al stared, stunned. What had he done?

"Al…"

But Alphonse took a step back, away from his brother. "Don't come near me."

"Al, please…"

"DON'T COME NEAR ME! GET AWAY FROM ME!" And as despair took a hold of him, Alphonse turned and jumped off the terrace. He didn't listen to the frantic cries of his brother, calling out his name; he didn't mind the odd looks that he got from the casual bystanders that saw him land on the ground with a deafening clank; and he didn't care what kind of direction he took as he started running as fast as his feet could carry him. All he wanted to do was to be as far away from everything and everyone.

Because he didn't belong anywhere. Not anymore.

He was nothing but a monster.

It was then that he bumped into something. Or rather, someone, because at the next instant there was a groan of surprise and pain.

Al instantly turned and saw a tall man on the ground, face-down.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that…" Al stuttered. He gave his hand, hoping he didn't cause much damage to the man.

The man took it while dusting his trousers with his free hand. "It's okay, I wasn't paying atten…" When the man finally looked up, he stared the suit of armour in the eyes incredulously. "Alphonse?"

The stare was returned almost identically. And Alphonse caught himself trembling at the intensity of the relief that washed through him.

"Beregond…"

_**End of Part Two**_

_**To Be Continued in Shamballa – Part 3 - The Philosopher's Stone**_


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